by E A Lake
I agreed with that, mostly. "I just keep wondering if I'm missing something with her. I mean, she's very nice to everyone. She almost always has a smile on her face, she's a great cook and a good friend."
"And she's the sweetest person alive for taking in all those strays that someone else would just chop up into food." The three of us turned and searched for the hidden speaker: Charolette. She had jumped on the dishes after dinner and then had turned herself loose on emptying the cupboards and rewashing clean dishes.
"The point is," I continued, shaking my head, "I don't know what the guy is up to and I don't trust what he says. He's working some other sort of angle."
"He's gonna talk to Shaklin and trade me for Chloe," Sasha said in a hysterical tone. "That has to be it. If he can't deliver Charolette, I'm the next logical choice."
Morgan and I stared at each other, open mouthed. What the–
"Oh, grow up," Morgan barked, making Sasha jump. "And how do you figure Shaklin would want you over Liv, or Sara for that matter?"
Sasha glowered at her. "I'm the pretty one. Livy's too meek and Sara's short and kind of stocky."
My chin hit the floor. "Stocky?" I repeated.
Sasha nodded wildly. "Well, she's thicker than me."
"You mean bustier," Morgan added slowly. "Neither of you are more than 110 pounds. There's no stocky between the two of you."
Sasha shook away Morgan's logic. "You know what I mean, Morgan."
"The point is," I inserted loudly, "I don't trust this Preacher fellow. He's up to something."
"When's he going to see Shaklin?" Morgan asked.
"As soon as he can. Said he couldn't get there fast enough so he could free his true love."
"Make me puke," Morgan said, walking away.
"I guess we'll find out soon that I'm right then," Sasha added, chasing after my girlfriend.
I was sure we'd find out something soon. And I imagined Sasha was going to be disappointed…or elated.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTY-EIGHT
Everyone had a theory on what Jack Preacher was up to. The following day at the office my entire staff postulated as I tried to ignore them.
"I say he still wants the dogs," Petri claimed, rubbing his sparse chin whiskers. "But he ain't gonna turn them into food, he's gonna race them."
Compared to Art's theory of wanting to use Chloe to tame a wild pack of dogs while meandering through one of the few nice neighborhoods left in Terre Haute, Petri's sounded logical. Still, racing dogs, in the apocalypse?
"Now hear me out," the youthful hick continued. "Desperate folks with extra time on their hands will gamble on anything to have a chance to win."
"Sounds like your folks," Cooley joked.
Petri ignored his best friend. "Now, you get a pack of dogs running through the neighborhood with numbers painted on the sides, and you'll have people coming out of the woodwork to lay down a bet. Or..." He snapped his fingers. "Death matches with the dogs. No, no; I got it. The dogs fighting humans like lions and the Romans. That's gotta be it."
Cooley rose and stuck each of his thumbs in a belt loop. "Except the truth of the matter is he wants to start a dog breeding business. It's so obvious. Pair the dogs up, make more dogs, sell off the old ones for whatever people want to do with them, make more dogs. I tell you, it's a helluva money making scheme. Everything's free. All profit."
"Except you gotta feed those mutts," Art scolded. "I swear, Cooley, I wonder if your folks had any kids who lived."
The more Cooley and Petri spoke and subsequently argued, the more I wanted to hear about Art's misguided ideas. Maybe he was on to something.
"How are we coming on our army?" I asked Art when the conversation faded. "Any more volunteers?"
"Well, we got Brutus," he replied as if it were news.
"I already know that, Art."
"And we got the Diggins' – Harney and Helen," he continued.
"The holy rollers who won't carry guns," I replied, feeling slightly disgusted.
"Booger McIntyre will help. We need to provide the gun."
Searching my mind, I tried to recall the face that went with the name. I drew a blank.
"The old fart who lives by the Christian cemetery west of town," Petri added. "That old fossil that sits on his front porch all day, every day."
I shook my head at Art. "He's not getting a gun. No way."
"You got a problem with Booger?" Art asked as though I'd insulted his own father.
"He's a hundred years old, Art. He can't be trusted with a full glass of water, much less a loaded weapon."
Art laughed and walked away. "Oh, come on, Sheriff. He's only 94. And most days his eyes work pretty well. So he says."
Great. We had a giant, two religious freaks and a man practically older than dirt. Wonderful.
"Anyone else?" I asked. "How about Ronnie and Robert?"
"Ronnie's in," Art reported happily. "Robert can't. Charolette said he couldn't run off and get killed."
"Her confidence overwhelms me sometimes," I said, rubbing the ache in the center of my forehead. "She does know that she's one of the main attractions we're trying to protect in this little freak show of ours, doesn't she?"
Art sucked in his upper lip for a moment. "You wanna go talk to her?"
Hmm, go talk to an unmovable force, or perhaps pawn the task off to the love of my life? Not a chance, because I, too, was a first-class coward.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTY-NINE
The next morning, I watched Cooley come running from the center of town towards my house. When he reached the white gate, he decided to leap over it instead of opening it. Petri had done such a feat a few days prior and I suppose he thought he could as well. When he landed on his chest on the front walk, I lowered my head and sighed. It wasn't going to be much of a day.
Morgan answered the door and gasped when she saw blood flowing from the lad's split lip.
"My God, Cooley!" she cried. "What happened? Were you in a fight?"
"He tripped over the fence," I said, taking him by the shoulder and pulling him away from Morgan. "What are you in such a hurry about this morning?" I'm sure I didn't sound patient, but things weren't going all that well so far.
"I got a message for you," he gasped as Morgan placed a wet rag on his bloody lip.
And then, being the true idiot he was, Cooley paused.
I slapped my forehead. "And the message!" I snapped.
"Be nice to him, Quinn," Morgan intervened. "Can't you see he's hurt?"
"The message, Cooley," I demanded. I would have said that he had injured his pride, but I'm not sure he ever possessed such a trait.
"Oh, here," he said, thrusting a piece of wadded-up paper into my hand.
When I unrolled it, my entire body tensed. My message was from Art; he needed to see me right away. Maybe I'd died back at Shaklin's farm. Maybe this was hell. It sure seemed like it.
"Back in a bit," I said to Morgan as I grabbed my hat and headed out the door. "You coming along, Cooley?"
He plopped his skinny butt onto the couch and shook his head. "I'm kinda dizzy from that fall, boss. I think I'll just sit here a while."
I rolled my eyes and pushed the door open. I doubted if he could tell if he was dizzy or not since he lived in a constant state of vertigo. And, I'm sure the only reason he was staying behind was to get an opportunity to chat with Sara whenever she stopped by. Since he'd be no help to me at the office, I decided he could sit there all day, just as long as he was gone by the time I got home that evening.
I stared at Art through narrowed eyes. Here I thought Cooley had won the idiot of the day award. Not even close.
"Let me get this straight, Art. You sent Cooley to my place with a message saying you needed to see me." He smiled and nodded once. "And really the message was that you had a message for me, right?" He nodded again. "Are you planning on giving me that message anytime soon? And why didn't you just send the actual message with Cooley?"
Art straighte
ned up like he was getting ready to deliver some serious news. "I didn't want to take the chance of upsetting your missus," he replied, using my least favorite term.
"What could be so bad as to upset Morgan?" I asked slowly. It was going to be a long day if I had to play 20 questions with each inquiry.
Art thrust a neatly folded beige envelope in my direction. Immediately, my stomach tensed. I got it finally.
"It's from Shaklin," he said quietly. "He wants to meet with you down by Farmersburg, alone, this afternoon."
I drew and released a deep breath. Art had chosen wisely.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTY
I rode to the appointed spot and was surprised by what I found. Standing by the side of the road, dressed like he was going to church, was my old buddy Tony Shaklin. And for all appearances sake, he'd come alone. Just as he requested of me.
"Thanks for coming, Quinn," he said as I dismounted and took a spot 10 feet from him in the center of the shaded blacktop. "I'd offer you a hand shake, but you probably wouldn't accept it, now would you?"
I sighed and crossed my arms. "What do you want, Tony? I'm kind of busy today. I don't have time to reminisce about the good old days."
He nodded and seemed un-offended by my frankness. As if I cared.
"I want to make a deal with you," he said firmly. His eye contact was a little off; that bothered me some. The Tony I remembered could stare down a cobra.
I looked away, rubbing the back of my neck. "I guess your old buddy Preacher hustled right down and talked to you about Chloe?"
Tony's face screwed sideways. "Jack Preacher? I haven't seen him in two, maybe three weeks. No, this is something I wanted to talk to you about."
"Okay," I respond, a little confused. "Let's hear it."
He looked down, but only for the briefest of seconds. Then his dark eyes locked on mine.
"I don't like hurting people, Quinn," he stated.
That got a grand eye roll from me.
"Sure, sometimes I've had to bust a few heads to get things done," he continued, a little more sheepishly. "I suppose I handled our situation poorly. But I don't want to hurt kids. It's not in my nature."
"Avellyn," I replied, finally getting where he was going.
"If it was up to me, she'd be off the table. I would have returned her to you today."
"But?" There was always a but with Tony and I was certain this would be a doozy.
"Well, you know Carla. She isn't as level-headed as you and I are. She's all whipped into a frenzy because Winston Cutler is going to besmirch the Shaklin name if we don't deliver what was promised."
Oh boy, the old blame-it-on-the-wife trick. I had to admit, I hadn't seen that one coming.
He stared at me for a moment. "If you could just bring me Charolette, everything will be fine. I promise."
I shook my head involuntarily. "Not happening. I already told you that, Tony."
His face became red and tense. "Then Carla's going to give the girl over to the family. I can't stop her. You know how she is when her mind's made up."
Yes, I unfortunately did. Once upon a time, early in our marriage, she'd decided that the cable company had given us a raw deal on pricing. I didn't know and quite frankly didn't care. But not her; no, she cared enough for both of us. She made her life's mission to get us the best deal possible. And though it took three solid days of screaming and demanding the next supervisor in line, she got us a new sweet price and two months free to boot.
"That would be a mistake, Tony," I responded quietly. "A life-changing mistake."
Suddenly, he became glib. "How's that army coming along? Think you can find enough people to force me into anything in the next week?"
I wasn't shocked that he'd received word of my lame efforts. The world had become a mighty small place. At least our part of the world.
"You might be surprised when I come marching down to Hymera, right down Shaklin Lane, with a couple hundred people in the next few days." Sure, it was a bluff, and a terrible one at that. But I hoped he wouldn't call it.
"Say," he said with a large smile, or maybe a grin. "How is Ed these days? Still as crazy as ever?"
Damn it. Called and trumped.
"I heard you were looking for all new help down there," I said, not bothering to respond to a question we both knew the answer to. "What'd you do with the other seven? Let Carla hang them all?"
For some reason, that pissed him off. His eyes narrowed and lips tightened. "You really cocked things up for me, Quinn. After you left with those five, I had a tough decision to make. I worked them hard for a couple of weeks and thought maybe one or two of them would break. You know, fess up to knowing everything. But not one of them did. They stayed resolute and silent. I decided I couldn't trust them. So, I cut them all loose."
He made it sound as if he'd done the women, and me for that matter, a favor. "How noble of you...not shooting them and all. But putting them out on their own is just as–"
"I had them loaded into a wagon and taken over to a place by Bloomington," he interrupted in a low voice. "I've known them all too long. I couldn't just kick them to the curb. That wouldn't have been right."
And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I saw a chink in his hard suit of armor.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-ONE
I turned and went for my horse, considering if old man Hillfinder was wondering why I'd never bothered to return it to him...for the last month or so.
"You got one week, Quinn!" Tony shouted. "One week and then, so help me God..."
I mounted the large brown steed and gave my former partner one last glance. His eyes were fixed on me tightly, but I knew I had the small opening I needed to turn the tide of the battle.
"Tony," I said firmly. "If so much as one hair on that girl's head is out of place, you're going to need God's help in finding a hiding spot to keep from dealing with me."
I assumed after I turned the horse and rode off, he’d probably flipped me off. I didn't care. He was dead to me. And he'd be even deader if anything happened to Avellyn.
I thought about the meeting as I let the horse plod back to Pimento. It was a strange meeting. Instead of Tony holding a gun to my head and demanding I return Charolette, he was actually subdued. He thought – no, truly believed – that he could bargain with me about an exchange.
But that was Tony Shaklin at his best. Wine and dine and win.
Of course, there was no more wining and dining, at least not in our situation. No, he was a powerful land owner and I was a rough and ready sheriff. I wondered if he thought the playing field was more level now or if he was working another angle. There was always a second or third angle with him.
To sum it up best, we were at a stalemate. I wasn't giving up Charolette and he wouldn't, maybe couldn't, give me Avellyn until he had what I possessed. We were two immovable forces.
No, make that three.
Carla was the wild card in everything between my former friend and me. She had his ear, shared his bed and fed him full of knowledge that she deemed critical to the situation.
But there was an error in her logic.
Instead of basing her beliefs on the current Sheriff Quinn Reynolds, she used her remembrances of me from years back. She still saw me as the kind, considerate, perhaps soft man she'd been married to for 10 years. But that's where she was wrong.
The old Quinn Reynolds may have given in with some forceful words and a little shove. I'd done it when Tony screwed me out of millions of dollars. I'd repeated it when he showed up and took her as well. Okay, she was ready to leave, so that was a 50/50 sort of thing.
But I wasn't that man anymore; not by a long shot. And that's where they'd made their mistake. Now I just needed to figure out how to exploit it.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-TWO
The second I walked into the office, my radar went into high gear. Everything seemed okay; Art sat at his desk reading a dog-eared paperback – Zane Gray, no doubt – and barely looked up
when I strolled in. Petri was nowhere to be found, but Cooley popped up from my chair.
Petri was most likely tailing Robert and Charolette. While I didn't keep track of whose turn it was to do the task, I was usually surrounded by two of the three amigos while the other did his duties.
So, everything was fine – except for Morgan grinning at me. I had thought she was going to be learning pie making from someone for the day. Claimed she might not be home until dinner time. Yet, there she was.
"Hey, you," I said as casually as I could, or dared. She looked like she was fine. She had a pretty smile spread wide on her face and came towards me with open arms. Maybe she just missed me.
"Hi," she replied in a happy tone. "I missed you. Where’ve you been?"
I removed my gun belt and laid it on the desk. "Oh, just went to talk to a man about an idea. Not much progress, but it never hurts to chase down every possible lead."
She gave me a nice hug and kissed me gently. "I'm sorry. I know this is really bothering you. Anything I can do to help?"
Thank God; all was well. I let out a shallow breath I'd been holding.
"Not right now," I replied, heading for my desk. "But just knowing I have your support means a lot to me."
I had almost sat down when I saw her face twist with a question.
"Yes?" I asked.
"I was just thinking," she said slowly, her lips twitching. "Here's my thought." She leaned against the desk, staring at me. Uh oh, something was off.
"Maybe I should go talk to Shaklin next time," she continued sternly.
Crap, busted.
"Yeah, about that," I moaned, scratching the back of my head.
"You are a stupid man sometimes," Morgan lectured.
I peeked at Art, but he quickly looked away. I had my guilty party, no doubt.
"He could have killed you, Quinn," Morgan continued. "They could have grabbed you and where would we be then?"
