by Diane Kelly
My eyes caught a glimpse of something light-colored up ahead. Though Smoky was too dark for me to make out, I could see my pink bra bouncing through the woods. My cat must be moving with it.
“Smoky!” I called. “Stop!”
With my brassiere wrapped around him, Smoky’s speed was hindered. I caught up to him and reached out to grab him. But just when I thought I had him, he leaped up onto an evergreen tree in the path in front of us and scrambled up onto a limb, his claws slashing through the bark, sending pine-scented splinters cascading to the forest floor much like the shavings from my grandfather’s whittling. I stretched my arms up and stood on tiptoe, but the branch was just out of reach. Smoky hunkered down on the limb, his mouth open in a fresh hiss. HIIIIISSSSS!
The bright light of the flare came bounding up behind me, and I took off again into the woods, making a wide circle around the tree Smoky was in. I didn’t want to let my precious baby get out of my sight again.
I ran around the tree a second time, making a tighter circle, when my ears detected the sound of a siren coming up the winding road. Thank the stars! The siren grew louder, then softer as the squad car wound its way back and forth on the incline. But I soon realized it wasn’t coming fast enough. No matter what evasive maneuvers I ran, Gage Tilley was gaining on me. My skull would be smashed to smithereens by the time Marlon found us, and Gage could easily disappear into the woods, coming out at any number of spots along the mountain where he could evade capture.
The siren was closer now, but still not close enough, the sound echoing through the woods as I approached the branch on which Smoky was perched. I looked up. His mouth was closed now, his eyes narrowed into determined slits. He’d somehow managed to free himself from my bra. The two ends had caught on a thick nub where vertical limbs had broken off the tree, the small cups hanging down.
I darted under my cat and into the forest. The thrashing I’d heard behind me suddenly stopped, and Gage issued a surprised shout. I turned to see Smoky gone from the branch and Gage wearing my bra like a sleep mask, the cups covering his eyes, the straps tangled around the tire iron, holding him back. He struggled in the straps, his flaming flare moving about like an off-color firefly caught in a spider’s web. He dropped the lug wrench to the ground with a thud but seemed to forget that the road flare in his right hand was a flame. He dropped the flare, too, to free himself. Smoldering smoke arose around him for a second or two until the shooting flame managed to ignite the bed of dried winter leaves at his feet. In an instant, he was surrounded by flames and his pants were on fire from the knees down.
He panicked, screaming and stamping and slapping at his calves as if performing a pyrotechnic step dance routine. I seized the moment and darted forward, running onto the berm holding up the end of the fallen tree, and calling to my cat. “Smoky! Here!”
Smoky turned and sauntered across the downed tree toward me, swishing his tail and casting glances back at the flaming, dancing man behind him. New thrashing sounds came from the direction of the road, the loud sound telling me something big was coming. It could be Marlon, but given how crazy things had become out here, there was a decent chance it was Sasquatch. Whoever it was, they carried a high-beam flashlight.
With a final crash, crackle, snap, my favorite cop burst into view. He turned to meet my gaze for a microsecond before dropping his flashlight and hurling himself at the human inferno in front of him in a running dive that took him temporarily airborne. He tackled Tilley to the ground and wrapped him in a bear hug, rolling them both back and forth. The motion not only put out the flames on Tilley’s clothing but extinguished the flames on the ground as well. Thank goodness! I’d feared the entire forest would go up in smoke. The road flare fizzled too, a spark evidencing its final gasp, but not before I saw Tilley’s hand reach out for the lug wrench.
“Look out!” I shrieked to Marlon. “He’s got a weapon!”
With the flare no longer burning and the beam of the flashlight aimed away from the melee, the dark night swallowed us. The sounds of struggling continued. Grunts, curses, and groans filled the air, along with an occasional slap or whump of an open or closed fist meeting flesh and the clang of the lug wrench meeting a tree trunk or rock. Marlon was a big, strong man, but Gage Tilley had a dangerous weapon and was fueled by pure adrenaline and desperation. There was a chance this might not end well. I wanted to help, but I feared I’d only get in the way and that my cat would run off again.
I held Smoky so tight to my chest it was a wonder the poor beast could breathe. Finally, the sounds of the struggle stopped. Unsure exactly how the fight had been resolved, I felt my stomach seize into a hard stone. While I was tempted to call Marlon’s name, I didn’t want to alert Gage to my location if he’d been the victor. I held my breath, waiting for some signal, some type of confirmation that Marlon had brought the murderer into submission.
The click-click sound of handcuffs being fastened told me everything was okay. I gulped a deep breath, and my muscles relaxed. My knees gave way and I sank onto the soft forest floor, still holding Smoky tight. A dozen fireflies lit up the night like fireworks over Marlon’s head, celebrating the arrest of Cormac O’Keefe’s killer.
Marlon whipped his radio from his belt. “I need an ambulance, stat.” He noted the location of our vehicles. “We’re in the woods, approximately fifty yards north of my cruiser.” With medical assistance on the way, he turned his attention back to Tilley, reciting his rights.
With the situation now under control, I exhaled a long, shaky breath and put my hand on a tree limb to lever myself back to standing. Marlon rounded up his flashlight and aimed the beam in my direction, lighting my way to him.
I picked my way over to the men and glared down at Tilley. Smoky glared down at him, too, as if somehow understanding he’d been the cause of tonight’s trouble. Marlon shined his flashlight down on the man’s face. He blinked against the harsh glare.
“You killed Cormac O’Keefe,” I said. “You needed a legitimate customer who’d agree to an exclusive arrangement and order large quantities of discounted liquor from you, but it was only to establish a paper trail and hide the truth, wasn’t it? You kept most of the moonshine yourself, to resell at a profit and pocket the earnings.” Gage must have realized that Cormac was a sleazebag who’d be happy to engage in a shady operation in return for a buck or two. “Then something went wrong.”
Writhing in pain, he cried, “The guy screwed me over! We had a deal, but he demanded a bigger share. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t what we’d agreed to!”
Tilley’s confession made, I turned to Marlon. “I guess we can make plans for that dinner now.”
He gave me a smile. “How’s Friday look for ya?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
There was more thrashing and flashing of lights as two paramedics forced their way through the woods, carrying high-wattage flashlights and a bright orange stretcher. Leaning the stretcher against a tree, they bent down to assess their patient. They took a quick look at Tilley’s burn wounds and grimaced. The guy was lucky his adrenaline masked some of his pain.
As the medics gingerly lifted Tilley and placed him on the stretcher, Officer Barboza picked his way toward us, a Maglite in his hand and Ace on his tail.
She glanced around, taking in the cat in my arms, the man on the stretcher, and the charred bra on the ground. “Whatever happened here must have been interesting.” She turned her pointed gaze on me. “You’re lucky you’re alive.”
I bit my lip. “I know.”
She pulled a pair of latex gloves from the pocket of her pantsuit and slid her hands into them. She reached down and picked up my bra, letting it dangle by the burnt strap from her fingers. “If this case goes to trial, this bra will be exhibit A.”
Barboza leaned in to check the tag. “Make that exhibit double A.”
I felt my cheeks blaze again but this time with embarrassment rather t
han the heat of the road flare.
After dropping my barbecued bra into an evidence bag, Ace pointed to the paramedics, who had strapped Tilley to the stretcher and were lifting him up. She turned to Barboza. “Go with them to the hospital and keep an eye on the murder suspect.”
He gave her a nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
One of the medics turned to me and Marlon. “You need attention?”
“I’m okay,” I said. “I’ve got some scratches, but I think that’s it.”
He aimed his flashlight at me. “Let me take a quick look to be sure. I saw the condition your van is in, the broken windows. You could have some glass embedded in your skin.” He ran his flashlight over my exposed skin, taking a close look. He used tweezers to pull out several small shards of glass. “If you notice more later you can remove them yourself. Any pieces that don’t come out easy a clinic can handle for you. Okay?”
I nodded.
“Let me check your chest and abdomen for signs of injury. Seat belts can save lives, but they can cause injuries, too, in bad wrecks like this.” He motioned with his index finger for me to unbuckle the straps of my overalls and lift my shirt so he could take a look. Marlon, Ace, and Barboza turned their backs to give me privacy while the paramedic took a quick look at my chest, abdomen, and back. “Looks like you’re good to go. But if you start feeling any neck pain, or any pain in your gut, you get yourself to a doctor right away.”
“I will. Thanks.”
He turned to Marlon next. While there were burn marks on his uniform, leaves and twigs in his hair, and smudges of dirt on his cheeks, he’d managed to escape major injury.
Once the medic was done with me and Marlon, I looked Smoky over carefully. Although his carrier had been tossed around, he seemed to be okay. I saw no blood on him, and he didn’t react oddly when I took his paws in my hands and tested his limbs. He didn’t mew or howl in pain when I palpated his tummy and sides. He merely looked annoyed, which was his normal state of expression. He’d probably used one of his nine lives, but he was no worse for wear. Marlon took him from me, carried him back to his police department SUV, and placed him inside so he’d be safe while we wrapped things up here.
Once Officer Barboza and the medical crew had taken Gage Tilley away, Ace returned her attention to me and Marlon, gesturing at the broken branches and smoldering leaves. “What exactly happened out here?”
We spent the next few minutes catching her up. I started first, elaborating on my earlier text. I told her how I’d been heading to my cabin when I’d seen the Backwoods Bootleggers truck circle behind the liquor store and decided to see if I might spot anything unusual. Of course, I had. Thus, the photos and text I’d sent to Marlon.
I gave her a sheepish shrug. “I guess Gage Tilley saw my van at the pizza place and realized I might have witnessed his exchange at the liquor store. I didn’t know he was following me until I was halfway up the mountain. By then, it was too late. There’s nowhere to turn off up here.”
She cast a glance at Marlon. “Good thing Officer Landers was in touch with you.”
“I’m glad he found me and Smoky in time.” Tilley had been intent on putting an end to us, just like he’d done to Cormac.
Though he’d been a hero tonight, Marlon downplayed his contribution. “Wasn’t hard to spot your van, what with it glowing in the dark. Besides, it was obvious where you went over the side. There was a trail of laundry to mark the route.”
Ace handed her flashlight to Marlon, and he held it up while she snapped a few photos of the scene, including the broken limbs, the scorched earth, and the road flare and lug wrench on the ground. She rounded up the road flare for evidence and slid it into another clear plastic bag. Then she picked up the lug wrench and looked from it to me. “He could’ve done some real damage to you with this thing.”
“He could’ve injured Marlon, too,” I added. “We’re lucky he didn’t.”
“You sure are,” she said. “Now you can testify against him if need be.”
“Is that the only reason you’re glad I’m alive? So I can testify?” Okay, so I was fishing for compliments or accolades from her. But darn it, my business acumen had helped solve this case and, after everything my cat and I had been through tonight, I wanted some credit.
A grin tugged at her lips. “I’m glad you’re alive because you’re one smart cookie, Hattie. The world could use more of those. I thought the missing moonshine was the crux of this case, but you figured out why.” She let the grin spread and reached out to give me a pat on the back. “Thanks for your help.”
Together, we made our way back to the road, where Marlon contacted dispatch and asked them to summon a tow truck to haul my van away. The hood was crumpled, as if the van were grimacing. Three of the four tires were flat and bent at odd angles, the axles wrenched. Seeing the smashed-in top, the glass shards sticking up from the trim, and the trail of laundry that had been expelled through the broken windows, I realized it was a miracle Smoky and I not only had lived through the crash but had no broken bones.
“I hate to tell you,” the detective said as she ran her eyes over my vehicle, “but I think your van is a total loss.”
I shrugged. “The most valuable thing about it was the custom paint job.”
She pointed up into a tree. “Are those the panties that match your polka-dot bra?”
They were. They were also up too high for me to reach them. I supposed it didn’t much matter. With the burnt bra taken into evidence, they were no longer a matched set anyway.
I picked my way around the woods, snatching socks off a limb here, yoga pants from a rock there, a striped shirt from the ground behind a sapling. I found a pair of overalls hooked around a limb, hanging like an unstuffed scarecrow. Marlon offered to help me gather the laundry, but I declined his assistance. “It’s bad enough you’re seeing my unmentionables.” I certainly didn’t want him touching them.
After the tow truck arrived and drove off with my van, Ace looked from me to Marlon before waggling her fingers. “You two go along now. Go share some moonshine or something.”
Marlon turned to me. “That’s not a bad idea. You got some up at your cabin?”
“I might have a jar or two.” Or ten. Plus a jug.
A quarter hour later, Smoky was stretched out on the couch, taking a nap, exhausted from the evening’s crazy adventure. I’d poured double shots of shine for both Marlon and myself, one each of apple and cinnamon. I raised my glass in a toast. “To the end of a successful investigation.”
He clinked his glass against mine and we both took a sip.
Now that Smoky and I were back at our cabin, safe, the import of the night’s events struck me. My body started to shake uncontrollably as the adrenaline processed. The moonshine sloshed over the edge of my glass onto the floor, and my teeth began to chatter.
Marlon cast me a look, set his moonshine on the kitchen counter, and took my glass from me, as well. He set my glass on the countertop next to his before stepping forward to envelop me in a tight embrace, essentially swaddling me with his arms, attempting to quell my tremors. He held me for several minutes. When my shivering began to cease, he spoke softly into my hair. “I remember when I first met you in the alley behind your shop. I suspected you’d cause me trouble. Looks like I was right.”
“Hey!” I huffed, putting a palm on his chest to push him back. “You can’t blame me for anything that’s happened.”
“I suppose not.” A mischievous gleam danced in his eyes as he gazed down at me. “Truth is, I’m looking forward to seeing what other trouble you might bring me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Over the next few days, the full details came to light. Caught red-handed with his pants literally on fire, Gage Tilley decided to tell the truth. Maybe he hoped coming clean would bring him some good karma come sentencing time.
Gage knew Cormac had been delin
quent in paying earlier invoices to Backwoods Bootleggers, and he figured it was due to cash flow issues or questionable business practices. Either way, he realized Cormac could be the perfect partner in crime for a scheme he’d devised to bilk money from the moonshine company. He knew he ran the risk of his employer catching on if he stole moonshine outright for resale, and he needed a legitimate paper trail to cover his tracks. If he could convince one of his customers to agree to make Backwoods Bootleggers their exclusive moonshine vendor, he’d have access to bottles at a discount and the paperwork to back it up. He’d then sell the excess bottles to other customers at a smaller discount, provide them with fake invoices, and split the profits with Cormac for his role in the scheme. What’s more, Gage would get a bonus from Backwoods for convincing a customer to go exclusive with the company.
Of course, they knew they might need an explanation for Cormac’s unusually large order. Cormac had come up with the part about hosting a regular moonshine special to compete with my shop, while Gage, noting that bikers were a big part of both Backwoods Bootleggers’ and Limericks’ customer bases, came up with the biker rally explanation. Tilley had fed this fictional story to Ace when she’d interviewed him. Looked like I hadn’t been too far off when I’d speculated about the bikers and frat boys being potential buyers of the resale shine.
Even though Cormac would retain only a few of the bottles ordered, they’d agreed that the bar would serve Backwoods Bootleggers brand exclusively. Gage knew his regional manager sometimes performed spot inspections to make sure exclusive customers were living up to the agreement and serving only Backwoods shine. Any customers found to be carrying other brands of moonshine would lose their exclusivity discount. For this reason, it was critical to the scheme that Cormac serve no shine other than Backwoods.
