Peach Clobbered

by Anna Gerard

  “We’re armed, so don’t try anything,” Harry called. “Now step on out and keep your hands in the air.”

  Feeling rather like I was in a bad cop movie—thought the adrenaline rushing through me was all too real—I raised the putter higher. Not that I planned to come out swinging. If the intruder made a run for it, I’d step back and let him go. And I rather doubted that Harry, for all his movie-tough-guy attitude, would chase him down.

  Then a reply came from the bus’s open door. “All right, hold your horses. I’m coming out.”

  I recognized the speaker’s voice, though in my current rattled state I couldn’t quite place it. But when he climbed from the bus and stood in the moonlight, I immediately knew who it was.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Travis Gleason.” I gasped in surprise as the old man slowly raised gnarled hands in imitation of every movie bad guy surrendering. He was wearing his usual putty-colored pants and a checkered shirt. But tonight he also had a thin blue cloth windbreaker zipped over the latter.

  I lowered the putter and gave him a puzzled look.

  “What in the world are you doing here poking around Harry’s bus?” Then, realizing the actor might be in the dark as to the man’s identity, I added, “Harry, this is Becca Gleason’s dad … you know, she’s the printer in town.”

  “And you’re Daisy Lathrop’s grand-nephew,” Travis said with a nod, finishing the introductions before Harry could speak. “Harry Westcott, ain’t it? I remember your daddy. Seems I saw you a time or two when you was a young’un, but I didn’t know you was living here at the house now.”

  “He’s staying on a temporary basis,” I hurried to clarify. “But Travis, what are you doing here?”

  “Right, what are you doing here?” Harry echoed, arms folded over his chest and expression suspicious. “It’s not exactly neighborly to go poking around in someone’s bus in the middle of the night.”

  The old man’s expression turned sheepish. “I can explain, but do you mind if I put my hands down now? Raising them up is aggravating my bursitis.”

  “Go ahead,” was Harry’s ungracious reply, not that I could blame him for being ticked. I wouldn’t have been pleased if I’d found the guy searching through my Mini.

  Travis lowered his hands and looked my way. “You folks was just kidding about being armed, wasn’t you? You don’t have a gun, do you, Miz Nina?”

  Since he could see full well that I was toting a golf club and not a shotgun, I saw no reason to bluff my way through. “Well, I—”

  “She might not have one,” Harry crisply interrupted, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t.”

  “Now, son, no need to get riled up. I just want to be sure ain’t no one is gonna do nothing foolish,” the old man replied.

  I could tell from his half smile, however, that he didn’t believe the actor. I could see why. While Harry might be able to convince a film audience he was a gunslinger, in real life he obviously wasn’t the type to be packing anything more dangerous than an extra teabag.

  Travis went on, “Well, here’s the thing. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here, but I thought I’d better double-check the bus, just in case. Miz Nina, you told me you was gonna be at that Rosary thing for Bainbridge tonight.”

  “I was, but we had a change of plans. We had a little incident the other night, and I thought it best that I hang around here. But what does that have to do with you?”

  Though suddenly I had an unsettling certainty what—or rather, who—Travis was after.

  He shrugged. “Let’s just say that Miz Lathrop was holding something for me all these years, and it’s time for me to get it back. So why don’t we all go inside now?”

  “Mr. Gleason—Travis—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied. “How about I give Becca a call and have her pick you up?”

  “Well, now, ma’am, I don’t think we’ll be doing that,” he countered, and unzipped the pale-blue windbreaker he was wearing.

  It wasn’t cool enough even after dark to require a jacket. Not unless you had thinner blood than normal … or were trying to conceal something. Travis deliberately let the jacket fall open, and I immediately saw that his sartorial choice fit into the second category. For the moonlight was reflecting off a black, semiautomatic pistol shoved into the waistband of his baggy permanent-press pants.

  Travis rested one gnarled hand on the butt of the weapon.

  “I’m sorry, Miz Nina. You’re a nice lady, and I hate to do this to you, but I ain’t got no choice. Now, first off, I want you to toss that putter of yours across the driveway.”

  I did as he asked, and he nodded. “Now your phones. Set them on the ground, and then step back ten paces.”

  Once we’d complied, he bent and retrieved both cells. Harry twitched visibly as his phone disappeared into the man’s pocket.

  “Uh, Mr. Gleason, I really need that phone for work,” he said. “I don’t suppose you might consider returning it once you’ve gotten whatever you want from us?”

  “Now, son, don’t you fret,” the old man reassured him. “I know these things are expensive, so I ain’t gonna smash ’em up. I’ll make sure I leave them somewhere you can find them again later. Now, let’s go on inside.”

  “Sure, inside,” I told Travis, not quite believing this was happening, “but we have to go in through the front door. All the other doors are locked.”

  And the foyer was also where I’d left Mattie. The Aussie would sense the danger and be on the old man the instant I opened the door. And surely in the confusion, Harry—or, more likely, I—could wrestle the gun away from Travis and put an end to this craziness.

  But Travis M. Gleason wasn’t anyone’s fool. As we climbed the front porch steps, he said, “Now, Miz Nina, I know you’ve got that big dog of yours waiting inside. I don’t want to have to shoot her, but if she comes charging at me, I will. So here’s what we’re gonna do. You head inside first and go lock her in a closet or bathroom. Understand?”

  I allowed myself a few mental cuss words. Now that there was no element of surprise left, no way would I risk Mattie’s safety by letting her play attack dog. Gleason’s eyes visible beneath the glowing porch light held a hard look of determination. I had no doubt he’d shoot her if she attacked, and I’d never forgive myself if she was hurt.

  “And while you’re locking her up,” he added, “you might be tempted to take a little detour and make a phone call on your landline, but don’t bother. I cut the lines first thing when I got here. Oh, and your Internet cable, too.”

  Which meant no email summoning for help. One of the disadvantages of being home-invaded by a professional handyman, I thought in dismay. They know where the bodies—and the phone lines—are.

  Convinced now that the only way out of this situation would be by complying, I eased open the front door. Mattie burst out barking as she came bounding toward me. I managed to grab her, and with a bit of wrangling led the protesting canine to the powder bath off the hall.

  “Good girl, good girl,” I reassured her as I shut her in. “Take my word on this one. Sit and stay, and I’ll let you back out as soon as I can.”

  Trying not to picture the damage the dog might do to my bathroom door if she really wanted out, I rushed back to the front porch. Harry entered, followed by the gun-toting Travis. Neither man looked particularly pleased. And I could hear Mattie woofing from her bathroom prison, letting us know she was pretty ticked, too.

  “Go ahead and turn on a couple of lights,” Travis directed. “No point in us falling over things in the dark.”

  “So where are we going, Travis?” I asked as I flipped the light switch. “The parlor is always comfortable.”

  “Now, Miz Nina, you know this ain’t no social call. We’re going upstairs.”

  As we made our way up the steps, I recalled how Travis had been surprised and then concerned when I’d mentioned I was making the tower room habitable again. At the time, I’d chalked it up to his being overly cautiou
s. Obviously, he’d had another reason he’d wanted to keep me out of there.

  Still, if the relic was what he sought, why was he going through all the skullduggery—pun definitely intended—to recover it? I’d already offered him work in the tower room. That would have given him a perfect opportunity to retrieve the skull without anyone being the wiser (had Harry and I not already removed it, of course). And yet, for some reason, the old man had felt compelled to threaten us at gunpoint to recover it.

  I wasn’t looking forward to seeing the old man’s reaction when he found out he’d taken this criminal chance for nothing.

  After a slow climb punctuated by gasping and coughing on Travis’s part, we reached the second-floor landing. I turned on the hall light. “Where to next?”

  “We’re headed to the tower room.”

  “I don’t think there’s much up there that you’d be interested in. Harry and I already cleaned the place up and rearranged all the furniture. We didn’t find any bags of money or anything.”

  The old man gave a grim little smile. “It’s not treasure I’m looking for. It’s an insurance policy.”

  We halted at the wall panel that opened to the tower room. Since there wasn’t any point in pretending we didn’t know how to access it, Harry twisted the piece of trim. The hidden door popped open, and he reached inside to pull the light chain. “All yours, Mr. Gleason.”

  There was an awkward pause as the old man examined the ladderlike steps leading upward. I could guess what he was thinking. At his age, and with his breathing problems, he’d be hard-pressed to make the ascent. And even if he could manage that feat, he couldn’t climb while also holding on to his pistol.

  But Travis apparently had a plan B.

  “All right, folks,” he told us. “This next part is going to take a bit of cooperation. I’ve treated you fair so far, so I’m expecting the same outta you. Young fella,” he addressed Harry, “I’m going to need you to go up there and find that insurance policy I told you about, and bring it back down to me.”

  “Right,” Harry replied. “So you’re talking about an envelope full of papers or something?”

  Travis gave his head a disgusted shake.

  “That was a figure of speech, son. Now here’s what you do. There’s a closet up there in that tower room. Open it and get down on your knees. You’re looking for a knothole in the wood that goes all the way through. Stick your finger in it, and a section of floorboards will come up, like a lid.”

  He paused and reached into his windbreaker pocket, pulling out a folded cloth. “Now, what you find inside, I want you to put it in this bag and bring it back to me. All this should take you maybe a minute. Once you do that, I’ll walk out of this house, and you won’t ever see me again.”

  “Got it,” Harry agreed. “But how will I know if I’m bringing you the right thing?”

  “You’ll know.”

  Taking the bag, Harry started the climb. Travis, meanwhile, gestured me back into the hallway. “Sit down if you like, Miz Nina,” he told me.

  I shook my head. “I’m fine. Like you said, it shouldn’t take more than a minute.”

  And then Harry’s voice drifted down to us. “It’s going to take more than a minute. I forgot I piled a bunch of boxes and stuff in the closet. I’ve got to clear it all out so I can get to the floorboards.”

  “Well, then quit yakking and get to work,” Travis called back up to him. “We don’t got all night.”

  In the meantime, I changed my mind about sitting and settled onto the floor, stretching out my legs. Obviously, Harry was bluffing to gain time. At some point, however, he’d have to quit stalling and tell Travis the hole was empty. From there, it was on Travis.

  But for now, I needed to know the why of the situation.

  “None of this was necessary, you know,” I told him. “You could have retrieved your mysterious insurance policy when you did the handyman work for me, and I wouldn’t have been wiser. Heck, the other day you could have told me you’d stored something there back when Mrs. Lathrop was alive, and I would have told you to come get it. So why the gun?”

  “I told you, Miz Nina, we have a situation. I’m leaving town tonight, just as soon as I get my, um, thing. There wasn’t time to do this the nice way.”

  An old retired guy fleeing town in the middle of the night. There had to be more to the story than just a pilfered skull.

  “But what about your daughter?” I persisted. “Does Becca know about this?”

  “She’ll find out once she gets the letter I’m mailing her.” He heaved a sigh. “She’s the reason I’m going. I-I couldn’t bear to stay here and see the disappointment in her face when it all comes out.”

  “So what in the heck did you do, Travis?” I demanded, though an uncomfortable suspicion was taking hold. “Tell me. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”

  “Got it,” Harry called before the old man could answer me. “I’m headed back down.”

  Since there wasn’t an it for him to get anymore, that announcement took me by surprise. I scrambled to my feet. Harry obviously had something up his thespian sleeve.

  He made his way swiftly down the ladder stairs, holding Travis’s cloth bag, which he’d closed with a single knot. To my shock, I could see a decidedly skull-shaped lump beneath the cloth.

  The old man sagged in obvious relief as he reached for his prize.

  “Here you go,” Harry told him. “But you might want to wait until you’re alone before you open it. You know,” he finished, with an exaggerated nod of his head in my direction.

  The translation being, Don’t want to upset the lady with something so gruesome.

  Being decidedly old-school, Travis immediately agreed.

  “It’s not something you really should see, Miz Nina,” he assured me. To Harry, he said, “Thank you, young fellow. Now, how about we head downstairs again, so I can leave you nice folks in peace.”

  The descent was faster than the climb, likely because Travis’s spirits were lighter. What his connection with the relic was, or why he had to have it now, I wasn’t certain. But I didn’t want to be around when he opened the bag and found whatever Harry had stuck in there instead of the skull.

  No one spoke until we reached the partially lit foyer. At that point, Travis tucked the gun back into his waistband and zipped up his windbreaker again, then gave us a crooked smile.

  “Well, folks, this is it. I’m sorry for disturbing your night, but maybe we can part friends. Hope your B&B makes a go of it, Miz Nina.”

  “About our phones?” Harry reminded him as the old man reached for the front doorknob.

  Travis nodded. “I’ll leave them down the street on the curb. This is a nice little town, so I don’t think anyone will steal them before you have a chance to pick them up.”

  “We appreciate that. Good luck, Travis,” I told him, surprised to find myself meaning it.

  I was standing in front of the closed powder bath door, hand casually on the knob. With the pistol no longer in play, I was debating setting Mattie free to stop him from leaving when a car screeched to a halt in the driveway.

  Travis shot me an accusing look. “You didn’t tell me you was expecting visitors.”

  “I’m not,” I protested, equally surprised. “Harry?”

  But before he could reply, the front door flung open. Backlit like vengeful angels in the high beams of an unfamiliar blue sedan backing out of the drive were Mother Superior and Sister Mary George.

  And that’s when I twisted the knob beneath my hand and yanked open the powder room door.

  With a bloodcurdling bay, Mattie burst from her prison. Startled, the old man looked up in time to see forty pounds of black, white, and gray Australian shepherd launch in his direction. She hit him midchest, knocking the breath from him in an exaggerated oomph.

  Unlike Harry, Travis didn’t have the strength or reflexes to play goalie to a canine soccer ball. And so he fell over backward, hitting the wooden floor with an audible
thud. The cloth bag he held went tumbling as well.

  Harry swooped in and retrieved the pistol from Travis’s waistband; then, after a moment’s seeming indecision, he stuck it on the top shelf of a nearby bookshelf for safekeeping. Mattie, meanwhile, remained crouched atop Travis’s chest, her nose almost touching his.

  The two sisters surveyed the scene with typical nunlike aplomb.

  “Nina,” Mother Superior coolly addressed me, the foyer light glinting off her oversized glasses, “is something wrong?”

  At a momentary loss to explain what was going on, I stared from Travis to the nuns. When I could summon my voice again, what burst from me was, “Whose car was that? How in the world did you get back here?”

  “Uber,” was Mother Superior’s succinct reply as she closed the door behind them.

  Sister Mary George nodded and pulled her cell phone from her habit. “I have the app.”

  “But you were all supposed to stay at the convent tonight. What made you decide to come back?”

  “Reverend Mother was concerned after the situation with that young woman threatening Harry,” the younger nun explained. “She tried calling earlier and got an out-of-service message, so she insisted on checking on you.”

  “Travis cut the phone and Internet lines,” I explained. “Plus he took our cell phones. So Reverend Mother was right. We definitely needed a little divine assistance tonight.”

  The older nun gave a crisp nod. “I will not stoop to saying I told you so. And now, I believe Mary George should call 911.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  While Sister Mary George made the call, I rushed to the kitchen for one of Mattie’s leashes and then coaxed the Aussie off her prey. Clipping the leash to her collar, I tied her to the stairway’s newel post so that she could watch the human activity but not interfere. Then, more than a bit concerned, I went back to check on Travis’s condition.

  Mother Superior was already kneeling beside him, examining him for injuries. In a plaintive voice, the old man muttered, “My skull, my skull.”