Chris lay helpless, staring up at the Sheriff.
"Looks like we've got us an FBI Agent here. Unless I'm greatly mistaken. That what it looks like to you, Sam?"
The tall dark man stepped over to get a better look. "Yup, looks like our Special Agent Chris Owen, but I've never seen him in this position before." He grinned at Chris, the huge mustaches twitching with amusement.
"Hurry!" Diane insisted. "You've got to help him."
Sure," said Boone, reaching down and taking hold of one end of the duct tape. With an obvious effort, he quickly tore the tape from Chris's face.
"Agh," Chris growled as the tape pulled hair out by the roots.
"You've got to do that fast, like removing a band aid, other wise it really hurts. Now, let's get you untied so we can find out exactly what's happened here.
Chapter 20
Isaiah watched the oaken bucket descend into the well. It disappeared from view in the inky blackness and he heard it splash into the water near the well’s bottom. He waited for the bucket to fill, listening to the morning songs of the birds. The rising sun was an angry red ball, poking its rim above the eastern horizon. This day would prove to be hot, humid, and miserable. With both hands, he turned the crank, winching the heavy bucket upwards. Finally, he pulled it out and poured the clear water into his own bucket, and set it on the edge of the well.
He stopped to listen. Something was different. The birds had ceased their singing. Everything was silent. Moisture dripped noiselessly from the trees in the woods, from the well and from his bucket, and his bare feet were wet with the dew on the grass. To the west, the broad reaches of the Mississippi were serene, with no hint of the tremendous strength of current beneath the surface. Here and there, rose hued gems sparkled on the water reflecting the first light of morning. The world was wrapped in silence.
He looked around at the woods, their cabins, and blockhouse. At the open door of the latter, Ethan stood, watching him. They smiled and greeted one another wordlessly, across the intervening ground. Again, Isaiah pondered the stillness. The only movement was the distant flow of the big river.
His reverie was broken by the sight of a buck, bounding from the woods. It raced past, prancing, tossing its head, and giving him a sidelong glance as it passed him. He wondered what had brought the animal so boldly into the clearing. Ethan saw the deer too and Isaiah waved, thinking his brother-in-law might grab his rifle for a quick kill. The buck was making it too easy for him. Their eyes met for a second. What had driven the deer headlong from the woods? In an instant, it became clear.
Without warning, the woods behind Isaiah erupted with a chorus of savage screams. He turned and saw dark figures running toward him, boiling out from under the trees. Isaiah dropped his bucket, water splashing over his legs, and sprinted for the blockhouse. He ran as fast as his young legs could carry him. Terrified, the war whooping and musket fire pounding in his ears, he saw the blockhouse door slam shut before him. That sanctuary was closed and he cast about for another place of safety. He opened his mouth to yell for help and at that instant, he felt a sledgehammer blow to his back. He was thrown to the ground rolling, and then lay still. He lay on his back in the center of the clearing between the cabins and blockhouse. Yells and gunshots came from every direction. His final vision in this life was the painted face of the Indian grinning at him with the first rays of dawn glinting on the bright steel blade in the savage’s hand.'
From Reelfoot Legacy, by Melinda Peters
* * *
Jeremiah and Kyle waved from the back porch as Jack and Vicky's SUV pulled away from the B & B. Nearby, Colby-Jack was stretched full length across a cushioned glider. The big cat took in everything through half closed eyes. Obviously bored, he gave a tremendous yawn, and settled down to finish a well deserved nap.
"Now where are those two going off to so early this morning? They're gonna miss breakfast."
"Grandpa, I told you, they're headed to Tennessee. Vicky's got something she needs to do there."
Jeremiah nodded and scratched his head. "Now I wonder...? Why did that little gal want to write down all them stories I told her? There's enough of them old stories to fill a book. In particular, she got real interested in my grand daddy's story about them Shawnee Indian attacks."
"I don't know. I got no idea Grandpa." Restless, Kyle began to pace. "I sure wish we'd a caught that kidnapper last night." He turned to face his grandfather. "He was right there in town! We just about had him, but then he took off through Lineberry Park and we lost him. He's still running around loose somewheres, but he can't have gone very far!" he let out a long breath. "Boone ain't found him yet."
"Kidnapper, you say?" asked the old man, giving his grandson a quizzical look.
Colby-Jack lifted his head, his eyes opening wide in alarm.
"Grandpa, don't you listen to a word I say?" I told you about the bad guy who took Sandy's friend, Diane, back to his hideout and tied her up. You know, the girl I rescued? Well, I told you, after that he captured that FBI agent. Remember?"
"FBI! What the hell is the FBI doing 'round here?" Jeremiah settled back into his rocking chair, leaned back and considered the boy. "I reckon I do recall you telling me something or other about the girl having some trouble." He leaned back and reached for the Mason jar at his side. As he spun the lid, he gave his grandson a thoughtful look. "Real fine young lady. You might could give her a try. Yes sir." The old man raised the jar and sipped.
Colby-Jack gathered his feet under him and leaned forward, listening. Kyle looked at his feet, shifting uneasily.
Jeremiah swirled the liquid in his jar, suggesting, "You ought to take notice of that gal, Son. Good-looker she is, and with a little practice, could be a good cook too."
"I know, Grandpa." Eager to change the subject he added, "You know I'm kinda seeing that Spencer girl."
"Foolin' round with one gal ain't never stopped you from spending a little time with another. A man's got to look around and see what's out there. That's how I found your granny, don't ya' know. Back in her day, she was a looker!" The old man settled back into the rocker and began to sway gently. With a wistful look he said, "And a hell of a good cook."
"I remember, Grandpa."
He closed his eyes. "I reckon I'll set a spell and wait for breakfast. Pres and the boys ought to be along directly."
Kyle shook his head and went inside to look for Diane. Colby-Jack slipped in deftly around his feet.
In the kitchen Ralph and Julia were putting the finishing touches on a massive breakfast buffet. Ralph was systematically forming round sausage patties and dropping them in sizzling rows on the big griddle, while Julia whipped a large bowl of eggs.
"Smells great in here!" Kyle grinned, anticipating a great feed. "I'm starving." He eyed the baked goods on the counter.
"Take an old cold tater and wait," mumbled Mr. Evans senior, without looking up from his newspaper."
Kyle backed away from the food and helped himself to a cup of coffee from the big urn. He sat down at the kitchen table near his father, who was dividing his attention between his own steaming mug and the Floyd Press. Published every Thursday, it held all the news of the county.
"Sure, I know, Dad," he whispered. "I was only just saying."
Looking over his reading glasses at his son he remarked, "You rescuing that Diane girl made the paper." He tapped the table with a forefinger. "Yes-sir-eee, the whole story is right here. How, right there in the library parking lot, that kidnapper forced her at gunpoint to drive out to..." He squinted at the fine print. "Says here, an undisclosed location, pending investigation by the Sheriff, blah, blah, blah. Makes you out to be the hero, the article does."
Kyle looked pleased with himself. "Yup, the lady at the press interviewed me and I told her all about how I rescued Diane."
"That feller is still on the loose somewheres. I reckon Boone will catch him in a day or two though." His father sipped noisily and turned a page.
Kyle added sugar and cream to his coffe
e and rattled the spoon in the cup. "We should've caught him last night."
"Sounds like you might have stretched the truth about how important your part was, just a tad, but then again, you got to toot your own horn. Ain't no one going to toot it for you."
"Ralph, you need any help?" Kyle studied the buffet counter. "Those buns look real tasty."
"Julia knows what she's doing in that department." Ralph winked at her. She smiled, looking pleased.
"That sausage from Slaughters market in town? They got some real good breakfast sausage there."
"Nope, it's my own recipe," answered Ralph. "Got the butcher down there to grind me some nice fresh pork shoulder, but it's my own mixture of seasonings. I think you'll like it."
John bustled in through the back door with Bella, bringing with them a gust of cool air. "Morning everybody! Damn! Sure smells good in here." The dog pranced enthusiastically in circles as John stroked her head. "Bella and I had a good long walk, didn't we girl?" She harrumphed and sat, her tail thumping.
"Morning, John. Get yourself a cup of coffee. Eggs and sausage will be ready soon," announced Ralph. The comforting sizzle of browning meat and the clatter of utensils came from where he and Julia were working. Kyle rubbed his hands together eagerly and his father pushed aside his empty cup and folded his newspaper, anticipating breakfast. It didn't look as though they were inclined to give up their front row seats for this event.
Footsteps sounded in the front hall as Diane and Theresa appeared looking beautiful in sweaters and jeans, prepared for the chillier than usual morning. Kyle turned to admire the two women. Diane wore a dark blue wool sweater and tight jeans that showed off her long shapely legs. Theresa's tight red sweater conformed to her full breasts, accentuating them nicely. Kyle temporarily forgot about breakfast.
Colby-Jack strolled in behind them and looked about him wide-eyed, perturbed by the crowd in the kitchen. He threaded his way through the people and stopped at the back door. Looking over his shoulder he produced his, "want-to-go-out", meow. John opened the door and Colby took two steps, halted, and sniffed the air. He hurried the cat along with one foot and shut the door behind him.
Out in the drive, vehicles pulled in and car doors slammed, signaling the arrival of the musicians, family members and friends.
* * *
It was a gorgeous day. The mornings chill breeze had carried on it the recollection of winter, but now the warm sunlight on her cheek promised spring and new life. Diane sat alone on the far end of the porch, around the corner from the music. She could hear laughter and the buzz of conversation from inside the kitchen behind her.
Ralph had brought her out a carafe of coffee and a mountain of breakfast that she hadn't yet sampled. Everyone had been so nice and kind to her, but in spite of everything, she was depressed. She'd survived a kidnapping, Chris had been rescued, and Sheriff Boone had promised her that Toricello would be apprehended soon.
She should be happy, but she had no idea what had become of Chris. The events of the previous night had convinced her that she was in love with him. Not a good thing. The Sheriff had hustled him off somewhere and she hadn't heard from him. She sighed.
From around the corner came the opening notes of a haunting, mournful song that perfectly suited her mood. The murmur of the crowd grew silent, as the band members plunked and strummed on banjo and guitar. She listened carefully to the lyrics as Preston Hardwick drew the sad notes from his fiddle, like the sobbing of a love sick girl. The sound tugged at her heart.
One of the white and gold Sheriff's department cars pulled into the driveway. The passenger door opened and Chris climbed out looking tired and disheveled. He leaned in and said something to the deputy at the wheel. Turning slowly he strode toward her. Halfway to the porch he looked up, saw her and quickened his pace, taking the steps two at a time.
He looked thoughtfully at her and smiled. "Hey. Are you okay?"
"I'm good." She turned her head towards the source of the music. "That song is so sad. Do you know what it is?"
He listened for a moment. "It's called Lorena. Yes, it's a very sad song. Diane, I really want to know how you are."
"Oh, I'm fine. Just a little tired. How about you?"
"Mind if I join you? That food looks fantastic." He sank down into the seat next to her. "I've been spending a lot of time with Sheriff McAndrew. I think he's finally forgiven me, but he's still holding my car and a lot of my stuff as evidence. They've got half the police in Virginia out looking for Toricello."
"I hope they get him soon."
"You and me both." He gestured at the food on the table next to her and lifted a brow.
Diane looked up and frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry. You must be hungry."
"Starving, actually. The Sheriff's deputies didn't seem inclined to stop for food, or anything else for that matter. Last thing I remember is eating a couple of ham biscuits yesterday afternoon."
"You go ahead. Ralph brought me so much, and I'm not even hungry."
He looked at the plate loaded with fat sausage patties, a mound of scrambled egg and fried potatoes. Nearby, another plate was overflowing with huge cinnamon buns and muffins. His stomach growled so loudly that they both laughed.
"Go ahead." She waved a hand at the food. "Eat it, I'm not going to."
"You need to eat something too. Ralph wouldn't like it if I ate your breakfast." Without hesitation however, he started on the eggs and sausage.
"There's tons of stuff inside. Julia and Ralph have been cooking like crazy." She reached for one of the blueberry muffins and broke off a piece, nibbling as she watched him eat. Gazing out at the mountains washed by morning sunshine, she said, "They really are blue, aren't they."
"Yeah, that's why they call them the Blue Ridge Mountains."
She threw a chunk of muffin at him. "Very funny."
"Hey! Don't waste that muffin." He popped the morsel into his mouth and then bit into a fat cinnamon bun, dripping with white icing. Moaning in pleasure he mumbled, "This is incredible!" After that, he ate in silence, systematically finishing off most of the food.
Finally, he leaned back on the wicker couch and sighed. "I guess everybody inside is still pissed off at me."
"Well yes, they are my friends after all."
"And I seem to get you in a lot of trouble. Am I right?"
"Well yeah, there is that." She smiled.
He paused and looked at her. "Diane. What about you? Are you still mad at me? I'm sorry about the way everything turned out. I said some lousy things to you and I'm sorry."
She shook her head. "No, I'm not mad at you. I love you."
He sat up straight. "What? No kidding? After all that's happened?"
"I love you too much to stay mad at you for long. When Toricello answered your phone and I knew he'd captured, or maybe even killed you... I realized that I loved you. That's why I'm going home as soon as Sandy comes back. She sent a text. Her mom is much better and she said she'd be here on Monday."
He stared at her. "I don't get it."
"I'll get over you." She looked away. "I was in love with John for years, and I got over him."
"Diane. I love you too. Please don't go!"
"Come on Chris. Don't say, 'I love you.' just because I said it first."
"I'm sorry Diane. I would have said something sooner, but I thought you'd never speak to me again, after the lousy way I treated you."
"Stop it. Look at it this way. You have a dangerous job that you love. I have a life back in Pippin's Grove. It's better this way. It's better if we just forget about it and pretend nothing ever happened."
"I love you," he whispered, grabbing her hands and drawing her to him.
"Oh Chris," she began, as tears slid down her cheeks. "It wouldn't work. You'll probably go back undercover and disappear. I'd worry." She shook her head. "No, I want to go home."
They were interrupted by the pitter-patter of small feet approaching. Little Lina Shackelford rounded the corner and stopped, staring at them
curiously. Her doll was cradled in one arm on her hip.
"Why is she crying?" She gave Chris a disapproving look.
Diane wiped at her tears. "I'm not crying. Not really."
"Is he your boyfriend," she said to Diane, frowning.
"No." Diane smiled at the little girl.
"Yes! I'm her boyfriend," said Chris."
Lina shifted the doll from one arm to the other and stood, silently appraising them, tapping one foot impatiently. "Are you going to get married to her?"
"No!" said Diane looking horrified.
"Yes!" said Chris.
Lina examined Diane's hands. "Where's the ring? I don't see any ring on your finger."
Chris looked sheepish. "Um. I didn't get one yet."
Lina treated him to a dramatic roll of her eyes. She shook her head. "Then you can't get married. There has to be a ring, a pretty one with a big sparkly diamond."
At this Diane began to giggle.
Lina noticed the empty plate on the porch floor at their feet. "Did you have cinnamon buns?" she asked suspiciously.
"We sure did," said Chris. "Had muffins too and everything was delicious, wasn't it?"
"Mommy gave me eggs first. Mommy said not to eat too much sugar so she only gave me a half a cinnamon bun. That great big man in there." She pointed towards the kitchen. "He gave me more. I got a big cinnamon bun from him when mom wasn't looking." She held out her free hand with fingers splayed to demonstrate how big. "He's a nice man."
"That's Mr. Spangenberg," said Diane.
"Yup, I know. I like him. He laughs a lot. I think he likes Mrs. Blake." She whispered this, as though imparting a piece of secret information.
Chris whispered back, "I think you're right."
"Well," she said tapping her foot again. "It's time for me to feed my baby." She started to leave, but turned back and informed them, "Girls have boobies, with nipples, so they can feed their babies milk. Boys don't." She gave Chris a contemptuous smirk and trotted off the way she'd come.
They looked at each other and laughed out loud.
Finding Floyd Page 21
