A white and gold Sheriff's department car took the turn into the driveway on two wheels. With lights flashing it came to a screeching halt behind the blue sedan.
Two deputies jumped out, with their guns drawn and took aim at Toricello. He finally raised his haggard face and looked at the newcomers, then turned his head to see McAndrew and Woodruff. There were four guns trained on him.
"Ah shit," he said and dropped his gun.
The deputies moved in swiftly to retrieve the weapon. Pulling Toricello's hands behind his back, they snapped on handcuffs and frog marched the Blowtorch over to the police cruiser
Sam moved in and quickly untied Diane's hands. Rubbing her swollen wrists he said, in his deep rumbling voice, "Darling, we're taking you to get checked out at the hospital. The rescue squad will be right here. They've already been called. Everything's going' to be all right. Don't you worry now."
She was shaking, but managed to say, "I thought this time we really were going to be shot. Then that bear scared me...I'm all right. Now."
"Sure you are. You might not know it, but you're probably going into shock. It's okay. Everything's fine. We'll take care of you." Sam slipped off his jacket, wrapped it around the trembling girl, and led her away.
The Sheriff lifted Agent Rodriguez up and brushed her off. Then he looked thoughtfully at Chris, walked over and spoke, "Now, unless I'm terribly mistaken, this is the second time in, what? Twenty four hours? That I've had to come to the rescue of the FBI?"
"Well, yes I...," Chris started to speak, but the sheriff continued, "Seems to me that just last evening, the lovely Agent Rodriguez was knocked flat on her back by Mr. Toricello, like I found her just now."
"You're right, but I," he tried again, but the sheriff wasn't finished.
"And you, Agent Owen, were hog tied, just like you are now. Y'all seem to make a habit of this."
Chris sighed and admitted, "You're right. And I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you've done for us."
"Well sure you can. At least, you can try." The big man smiled and laid a hand on Chris's shoulder. "Now, do you think in the future, you might consider notifying the local police of your presence? I don't expect y'all to tell us everything, but you see my point?"
Chris didn't care. Boone McAndrew could have his fun if he wanted. "If it weren't for you Sheriff, we'd be lying out there in the woods with bullet holes in the back of our heads. I thought for sure we were going to end up dead this time."
"Well, we got a tip from a neighbor, right up the road a piece." He gestured up the Christiansburg Pike. "They saw Toricello sneaking through their back yard. Sam and I thought we'd check things out. We were just across the road when we saw him march you and Miss Diane out of the house."
"Thank God you were."
"We waited until y'all were out in the open with some distance between you and him. At least this time we didn't let him get away."
While the deputies were reading Toricello his rights, Boone McAndrew walked over and eyed the dead bear. Shaking his head he said, "It's not bear season." He nodded towards Toricello. "He do it?"
Chris shrugged noncommittally.
"We heard the shots. Bear season isn't until October. Then, being from the big city, he'd have no way of knowing that." He called over to his men, "Would one of you get a call into Animal Control? We've got a cub here with no Momma." Chris and the Sheriff watched the cub, sitting with the grocery bag between his legs, calmly munching a cinnamon bun.
"Sheriff?" said Chris.
Boone looked up smiling, brows raised in question.
"Do you think you might untie my hands?"
"Oh Lord, have mercy. What's wrong with me? Sorry about that." Boone grinned and reached for the knots when Chris turned his back to him.
"What happens with the cub?" Chris asked him. "He seems too small to survive on his own."
Boone glanced over at the little guy happily eating Toricello's lunch. "Animal control people will check him out, and then they'll find him a home." He handed Chris the leash he'd been tied with. "It's a shame about the bear. She was a beauty. Someone should see about that skin. It would make a nice rug."
"By the way Sheriff, in Toricello's pocket you'll find the keys to that Cadillac over there. It belongs to someone who's staying here at the B&B."
Boone nodded. "Let's get back to my office. We'll need you to fill out a complete report on all this."
"Sure." Chris watched a pickup truck slow and pull up the drive.
Preston Hardwick dropped from the driver's seat and stood, surveying the scene as Kyle came around the truck, eager to see everything.
Kyle jogged over to the police car, but stopped when he saw the Blowtorch. Toricello turned his malevolent glare on him and he stepped back cautiously.
"Hey Boone! That's the bad guy, right? He's the one kidnapped Diane." Kyle called as he ran across the yard.
"That's right Kyle. Now why don't you come on over here and get out of my deputies way. They've got a job to do."
"Howdy Chris, Sheriff," Preston nodded to them. "Looks like you've had a little excitement here this afternoon." He turned to the sheriff. "Was anyone hurt?"
"Nope." He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and smiled. "Everyone is fine."
Chris added, "Things might have been different, but your sheriff's quick thinking saved our lives."
Kyle came over, grinning at them. "I knew it wouldn't be long before we caught him Boone. Glad we got here in time. That guy looks mean as a rattlesnake. You didn't have no trouble with him though, I'll bet." He stopped short when he caught site of the dead bear sprawled on the ground. "Whoa! Get outta here! Somebody killed a black bear. Hey Boone, somebody shot a bear."
"Yeah Kyle, we figured that out already," said the sheriff shaking his head.
"That's a big one," said Kyle, with a low whistle. "Hey Boone, folks can't go around shooting bears. Season ain't until October, right?"
"Correct again son. By the way, I do believe you owe me a pizza, a large, with the works," said Boone. Kyle said no more.
When he climbed into the sheriff's car, it occurred to Chris that this would put the final nail in the coffin of his FBI career. He mentally ticked off his failures, losing the Blowtorch initially, not knowing the suspect was hiding in his own house, and finally, allowing himself to be taken hostage, not just once, but twice. He mentally kicked himself for his lack of vigilance, but on the other hand, he and Diane weren't dead. Why should he worry about his career?
Chapter 22
Ethan and Becky sat by their fire and talked late into the night about the earthquakes and the war that followed. They couldn’t speak of those early days without remembering all those who perished. Ethan recalled the Choctaw, Okashana. He asked Becky if she remembered that first day when he appeared at their fireside following the earthquake. Becky did, of course remember quite well. She smiled at the thought of her relief seeing Ethan alive. As though it was only yesterday, she could picture the terrified young man stumbling from the woods, his feet bound up in dirty rags.
He hadn’t seen Okashana for more than twenty years. Often he wondered if his friend was caught up in the great removal of Cherokee and other tribes driven west of the Mississippi during the 1830’s. That policy of President Andrew Jackson’s caused Ethan to reverse his opinion of the hero of New Orleans. It was especially galling for the Choctaws who loyally fought beside the Tennessee and Kentucky militia.
Thoughts of his Choctaw friend brought his thoughts back to Reelfoot Lake. He cradled his empty cup in both hands, the whiskey and the blazing fire warming him. Ethan looked at his wife, who was to him, still beautiful in her old age. Her hair, once the color of gold, was now white as snow.
As though she could sense his attention and change in thought, Becky looked up from her needle and thread. He told her that he’d stopped at the shore of Reelfoot Lake and in the solitude there, thought about those years long past. In great detail he described for her the peaceful beauty of the
still waters of Reelfoot and the woods along its shore. As he talked, she nodded, knowingly.
He showed his wife the leather journal he’d purchased and asked her what she thought of his writing down an account of all that happened in those years. “Did she think it a good idea? Was it worth the effort, and would future generations want to know?” Becky looked up from her needlework. She looked at him for a long moment. Then, the corners of her mouth turned up in the beginning of a smile and her blue eyes twinkled. He thought that perhaps she’d not heard his question. Finally, she answered.
“It’s a wonderful idea. Why Ethan, if you do not do it, then I shall. It is something I’m sure our grandchildren and their children would someday want to know.”'
From Reelfoot Legacy, by Melinda Peters
The second week of May is the peak of apple blossom time in Pippin's Grove. Nestled in the heart of the Hudson Valley, in upstate New York, the little town is surrounded by apple orchards. The trees are blanketed every spring with a profusion of pale pink flowers. They begin as a pink haze over the branches and almost overnight, the trees are covered with blossoms. In a week, the petals are like snow on the ground. A memory until the following spring.
Victoria Conners sat gazing over the sea of pale pink that was their orchard. It seemed to stretch on forever. A gentle breeze rippled through the blossoms and she sighed with contentment. Working in her pleasant office room, just off their farmhouse kitchen, was comforting and peaceful.
The laptop monitor on the desk displayed page two hundred fifty seven of her latest book. The work had gone smoothly and the book was nearly finished. Instead of another frivolous romance novel, this was the type of book she'd always wanted to write. It was a more serious historical novel about the devastating New Madrid earthquakes, which occurred in the Mississippi Valley two hundred years earlier. She was pleased with the result.
"Anybody in there want coffee?" called her husband from the kitchen. She looked at the time. Nine o'clock. Jack was always up early. Today he'd been out in the orchards checking his blossoming apple trees.
"I would love that. Thanks," she answered. She heard his footsteps in the kitchen, the rattle of cups, and the sound of pouring coffee.
In a moment Jack was setting her favorite mug by her side.
How's the book coming along?" he asked, nodding toward the screen.
She leaned back and reached for her coffee. "Nearly done and I'm very pleased with the story. Marsha will be delighted that I finished it early. She's due to have her baby at the end of the month."
"Tell me about it," he laughed. "Joe's a nervous wreck. It's a good thing Diane's agreed to stay and manage the nursery for him a while longer.
"I finished it way before my deadline and the publisher is on board with the new genre."
"Still going to use the new Melinda Peters pen name and are you keeping your secret?"
"Yes," she said nodding. "Still keeping my little secret."
Smiling over the rim of his steaming mug he asked, "You know what today is?"
She lifted her eyebrows. "Is this a trick question?"
"Think about it. It's May tenth."
Sipping her coffee, she looked at her husband with a twinkle in her eye. "I arrived in Pippin's Grove one year ago today. Right?"
"Correct. I knew you'd figure it out. Happy anniversary, Sweetheart."
"And walked in on you in the shower." She grinned.
He leaned in giving her a lingering kiss. Nibbling a tender spot on her throat, he murmured, "Technically, I was already out of the shower."
"You were all wet." Her eyes closed as the kisses trailed lower.
"You couldn't take your eyes off of me." He stroked her cheek and whispered, "Who would have thought so much could happen in one year. Any regrets?"
She smiled. "None."
"Not from me either, that's for sure.
"Any smoking hot sex scenes in this one like the romance books?"
Her gray green eyes sparkled as she nodded. The tip of her tongue stroked her lower lip.
Their eyes locked. He reached out and caressed her knee, letting his hand travel higher on her thigh, stroking her soft skin until she was shivering with anticipation.
* * *
"Oh my god! What the hell is that thing? Is it dead? Tell me its dead." Rose Buonadies clutched her heart and stepped back from the snarling jaws.
Theresa and John were admiring their new bear skin rug on the living room floor. Rose was staring in horror at the furry black face the stared back at her through lifeless glass eyes. The bear's mouth was permanently fixed in a frozen snarl, its teeth bared. The huge paws were splayed out with the claws still attached.
"Don't worry." John laughed and gave his future mother-in-law a hug. "Isn't it great? I'll bet we've got the only bear skin rug in town."
"Jesus Mary and Joseph, that thing is scary." Rose shivered, crossed herself and stared at the expanse of black fur spread out in front of John's fireplace. "It don't look dead." She took a wary step backwards. "Are you sure it's dead, for God's sake!"
"Look, Mrs. Buonadies." He walked out to the center of the rug. "I'm standing on its back."
She took a tentative step closer and shrugged. "Okay, I guess its dead. Just don't ever ask me to clean that thing!"
"Do you like it?"
"No. I don't like it! Give me a minute to get used to it. Where the hell did you get it? And hey Johnny, how many times I gotta tell you? Call me Rose!"
"Okay, Rose. I keep forgetting. We had it made in Floyd, Virginia. Somebody shot it while we were down there last March and since no one wanted the skin, I had it done. Made it into a rug."
"So, Rose, what do you think?"
"I told you; let me get used to it. It's different." She tilted her head to one side, her mound of tightly curled hair maintaining its shape. "You're gonna put that thing down in the basement, aren't you? You don't want people to see that when they come to sit in your living room."
Theresa rolled her eyes. "Ma! Stop already!"
"Did you kill this animal, Johnny?"
"No, not me. I don't know exactly who shot it, but no one else wanted the pelt. I just couldn't resist. Always wanted a real bear skin rug."
Rose leaned in and tentatively tapped the top of the furry head with a forefinger. "Oh my god, is the creature's skull in there?"
"Actually, the taxidermist put a plastic insert inside to replace it. Everything is gone from within the bear. All that's left is fur and claws."
"Do they have bears running around all over the place down there, with people shooting them all the time, or what?"
"We've got plenty of black bears up here in the woods. They live all over the United States."
"I don't know. I don't think we got any down in Jersey." Rose shook her head doubtfully.
"Okay, Ma." Theresa sighed. "You came all the way up here. Did you need something?"
"Okay, okay." Rose waved a hand. "Yeah, we gotta talk about the reception. Can we talk about your wedding reception? That's why I came all the way from Jersey. There's still a million things to finish up and there's only three weeks left. We've got to settle on the table seating arrangements. Nearly all the responses are back. This is going to be very difficult. You know Theresa; we can't seat Uncle Vincent or Aunt Henrietta with any of the Donatellos. There's bad blood between them. I tell them all the time, 'Get over it!' Right? But, whatta you gonna do. It is what it is."
"Yeah Ma, I know, I know," said Theresa, waving a hand dismissively. "John and I will take care of this. We'll do it today, okay?"
* * *
A few miles down the road, at the Vandersmoot Nursery, Diane was busy watering the flats of spring plants arranged outside the building. Using a low pressure nozzle to soak the seedling flowers and herb plants, she moved slowly along, dragging a long hose. Her mind wasn't on her task, so now and then she'd stop moving ahead until the water was running from under the planters and coursing across the parking lot. Then, irritated with
herself, she'd tug on the hose and continue.
It was a beautiful day, but she was in a sour mood. She couldn't get Chris off her mind. Since she'd returned from Virginia, he'd called and mentioned coming to Pippin's Grove, but he was always vague about when that might be. As the days and weeks dragged on she decided to forget him and go on with her life. After Joe and Marsha's baby was born, she'd look for work, maybe in New York. It had been great visiting Sandy when she lived in the city.
With her free hand she toyed with the blond curls at the back of her head. In the six weeks since she'd returned to the Grove, her hair had grown. Another couple of months and I'll have long hair again. Chris loves my hair. He told me so. There I go again! Thinking about him.
Moving to a row of herbs she tested the soil with a finger to determine if they needed water. She pinched and rubbed the needles of rosemary, releasing their pungent aroma. Doing the same with spearmint leaves she inhaled deeply.
What am I waiting for? I've got to move on. No more waiting for Chris or any man! She sighed heavily, tugged impatiently on the hose, and moved on down the rows of plants.
Behind her, a blue Ford pickup turned into the parking lot and she continued watering.
The door flew open and a man jumped to the ground and quickly strode toward her.
She stared. It was Chris, dressed in jeans and a red shirt. It was really him.
"Diane," he said, gripping her shoulders in his large strong hands.
"Oh Chris, I didn't know you were coming! How are you?"
"I'm great, now that I'm here with you." He studied her, then wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.
She responded with passion as he deepened the kiss.
Breaking away finally, he gazed at her again, before speaking. "Diane, will you marry me?"
"What? What did you say?"
"I asked you to marry me Diane. Will you marry me?
Finding Floyd Page 23
