“And nine months. I’ll be eighteen on March 14. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Everything, Sherman. I’m impressed with your courage, I really am. But I can’t let you do anything that might get you hurt—or worse. Your parents would kill me, for one thing, and secondly, it’s just not something I’d feel comfortable doing. You can help out in here, but you’re not going outdoors. Got that?”
“But what about Sophie?”
That’s right. There was a camel out there. Lucky me. “She’ll be fine. Nobody knows she’s in that trailer to begin with, so none of those guys are going to bother her. Besides, why waste ammo on a camel?”
Sherman snickered. “You don’t know Sophie. I’ve nearly plugged her myself a couple of times. ’Sides, she’s not in the trailer. You told me to take her over to that little building by the grove of trees, so I did. I took her out of the trailer and put her in that shed. Perfect spot for her, all snug and weather-tight. I’m just afraid if there’s shootin’, she’ll get caught in the crossfire.”
“Well, think of it this way, son. She’s probably safer in that building than in the trailer if it comes to gunfire.”
He looked doubtful but then nodded. Vigorously. I felt my headache returning. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But she’s an ornery cuss, and if anybody shoots at her, she’s not gonna be happy, I can tell you that.”
Join the club, Sophie. Join the club.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emma scampered after Melanie and Sadie. She had to let the younger woman know what she’d seen before someone really did get hurt. “Melanie,” she whispered. “Wait a minute, please.”
Melanie stopped in her tracks and looked behind her. “Oh, I’m sorry, Emma. I should have waited for you.” She reached for Emma’s arm. “Here, let me help you. Keep your head down, though, dear.”
Emma wouldn’t budge. “No, that’s not it, Melanie. I need to tell you something now.”
That got Melanie’s attention. “Okay, let’s sit a minute. Sadie, wait up.” Sadie looked impatient, but plopped down on the step beneath the other two women.
Emma quickly told the ladies what she’d seen out the kitchen window a few minutes before. “I’m so sorry, Melanie. I had no idea there was anything going on. I mean in this weather? Who’d be crazy enough to …?”
Mel embraced Emma with an arm around her shoulders. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Emma,” Mel said. “I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, either. Sadie, tell me exactly what you and the others saw.”
“Hazel Parry was the first one to notice there was something strange going on. She was in the kitchen tidying up the stove when she turned around and saw someone trying to look in the kitchen window—the one over the sink. I guess they couldn’t see her because the candle was sitting on the ledge just beneath their eyes. It must’ve blinded them. She ducked beneath the kitchen table before their eyes could adjust. As far as we know, he didn’t see her.”
“But she saw … what? A guy in white?”
Sadie nodded. “Yep, with a white ski mask and one of those guns hooked to him with a strap. Stuck up behind his right shoulder, she said. Long, mean-looking thing. She saw a James Bond movie once, you know, so she’s up on all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
Melanie nodded. “You don’t think there’s any chance she just imagined the gun part? You know, with all the hullabaloo of the storm and all?”
Sadie shook her head back and forth. “No way. Not Hazel Parry. Too level-headed, that woman. Besides, with her background in spy movies, well, you just don’t pick up information like that on the street, you know.” She shook her head again. “Nope. If Hazel says she saw a gun, she saw a gun.”
Melanie turned to Emma. “Did you see a gun?”
“No, but the guy I saw was farther away, and the snow was blowing around every which way. He could’ve been carrying a cannon, and I wouldn’t have seen it. And, of course, that nasty Mr. Jackson was standing there talking with him and blocking my view.”
Melanie was silent for a minute. “Okay, we’ve got to get down there and find those ladies and get them someplace safe. I need to talk to Hugh.” She pulled her phone from her jeans pocket and punched in Hugh’s number. Emma watched Sadie scamper—hunched over like a commando—down the rest of the steps, then heard Mel say, “Stay here with me, Emma. I’ll be just a min—Hugh?”
Emma kept an eye on Melanie’s face as she and Hugh talked. Apparently he was aware of something going on as well. She felt a sick feeling—like cold tar weighing down the floor of her stomach. She knew it wasn’t going anywhere until this mess was taken care of. What if she’d doomed them all by being fearful of telling everyone what she’d seen? Would her pride get them killed? Why, oh why, didn’t she care enough about her fellow townspeople to mention something before this? Just because they weren’t eager to be a part of her life didn’t mean she didn’t owe them the common decency of warning them of danger. She could feel the old familiar dread wrapping its grasping tendrils around her heart. Had she done it again? Was her silence going to cost her—and her neighbors—dearly?
Melanie clicked the phone shut and took Emma’s hand. “Let’s get down there, Emma. But stay low and don’t say a thing. We’re going to have to do whatever we can to stay out of sight until the men can find some way to help us. By the way, our Mr. Jackson is up to his eyeballs in this mess.” Emma rose with Melanie to a crouching position, clinging to the younger woman’s hand. “And he’s not one of the good guys.”
Emma’s mind reeled. Why hadn’t she trusted her instincts? She’d known that guy was bad news the minute she saw him.
She kept her head down as she and Melanie quickly and quietly descended the stairs. When they reached the bottom, Melanie stopped, turned, and put her finger to her mouth. Emma nodded.
Two seconds later, someone screamed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I’m a praying man, no question about it. I’ve prayed to the Lord since I was a little boy—in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, in peacetimes and war. I’ve worshipped Him for His boundless love and His gift of salvation. I’ve petitioned him in matters concerning my marriage, my children, my wife, my friends, those under my command, my superiors, colleagues, and parishioners.
But I can’t say I recall ever praying for the safety of a camel staying in my eighteenth century henhouse, that it remain uninjured by gunfire meant instead for my caretaker who used to be a big city police detective who’s done prison time for killing the nephew or cousin or some such thing of a drug lord. Nope, never. So, first time or not, I hope it’ll be my last. Not that I wish any harm to come to my camel friend, but I never—ever—want to repeat the idiotic events of that night.
After I hung up with Mel, got the men up to speed, and told Sherman that he was not to leave the building under any circumstances, short of fire, explosion, or the Rapture, I bundled up in my coat, hat, scarf, gloves, and boots and headed outdoors to look for Bristol.
Sadly, spring had not arrived while we were sorting things out in the church. The blizzard was still in full force, rearranging the landscape every few minutes, erasing that little bit over there and adding it to this spot over here, heaping, scooping, leveling. If it hadn’t been a matter of life or death for Bristol, I might have simply stood in the middle of it all and gloried in the fury of the wind, felt the blast of the snowflakes as they tried to scour the whiskers from my face. But Bristol was out in this mess with gunmen bent on killing him, and there was no time to marvel over God’s artistry.
I stood just beyond the steps that led from the church door to the small parking lot beyond. Even with the lights on either side of the front doors doused due to the power outage, I probably stood out sharply against the white background. Not thinking I would need to skulk around in the middle of a blizzard hiding from hired gunmen, I hadn’t thought to dress in white as did those clever bad guys lurking somewhere beyond my line of vision. I remembered that Bristol’s
coat was a dark green plaid; and although he’d show up against the snow, if he kept to the trees, he might have a chance. My brown bomber jacket might just do the same for me. I moved to the side of the steps and hugged the building, lowering myself to a near crouch as I moved behind the shrubs that skirted the outside walls of the church.
I cowered behind one of the holly bushes on the east wall. It didn’t do much to stop the wind, but it kept me as hidden as possible from the eyes of thugs I had little chance of seeing. They could have been standing three feet away from me, and they’d escape my notice unless the wind shifted and blew away the curtain of snow that prevented me from seeing farther than a foot beyond me.
Where was Bristol? I knew he’d had at least a five-minute head start on me, but I didn’t have the slightest notion where he might have gone once he left the church. To Molly, his snug house behind the church? That seemed as likely a destination as any, except it might also be where the men who were out to kill him were lying in wait. To the inn? That made more sense, particularly after his remark a few minutes ago that the women, my wife included, were alone with Delbert Jackson.
I headed for the inn.
Emma didn’t have to bother holding her breath. It was all she could do to keep her heart beating, let alone figure out how to breathe, while she and Melanie rounded the corner from the dining room to the kitchen. Even the scant light that the glowing candles had given off a few minutes earlier had vanished; someone must have blown out the flames. She could still smell the acrid odor of the extinguished wicks. Melanie’s fingers grasped hers, and Emma was grateful for the touch.
She felt Melanie stop then go to her knees. Emma followed. She hadn’t done this in years. Hoped she could get up again.
“Don’t move, Emma,” Melanie whispered. “There’s one at the kitchen window.” Emma nodded then tapped Melanie on the shoulder and pointed to the dining room window closest to them. Just past the paned glass, two eyes hovered above the sill.
Both women stayed as still as they could manage. Emma slumped against Melanie for support. Even the little bit of strength she could draw from the younger woman crouching in front of her helped tremendously. Good grief, what would she do if she were by herself? Emma glanced around the room in front of them and could just make out the shapes of several women beneath the kitchen table. She wondered who screamed—and why. Was someone hurt? Startled? Obviously it had been one or the other; under the circumstances, no one would scream for the pure joy of it. She marveled, though, at the bravery of the women she had always scorned. Would she be as brave if she didn’t have Melanie to lean upon?
Emma scanned back and forth between the two figures outside. Simultaneously, as if summoned by a third, both men stepped away from the windows. She nudged Melanie, who quickly made her move; Emma scrambled after her across the floor. They reached the table legs and Melanie motioned for Emma to scoot in close to the other ladies. “Are you all right?” Melanie said to no one in particular. They all nodded, some more certain than others, Emma imagined.
Sadie leaned forward, thunked her head on the edge of the table, and rubbed it. “I don’t know how many there are, but there have to be at least three of ’em.”
Melanie nodded. “Hugh says they think there are at least four, five counting Delbert. Where is he, by the way? And who screamed?”
Sadie grinned and inclined her head toward the pantry door. “All trussed up in there like a Thanksgiving turkey.”
“How did you…?”
“More of us’n than there were of him. We got the drop on him soon as he walked in the door. He won’t be sassin’ anybody for a good long while.”
Winnie leaned forward. “I thumped him a good one with your cast iron skillet, Melanie.”
Emma thought Winnie sounded darned proud of herself for doing bodily harm to another human being. She supposed she’d feel the same way, though, under the circumstances.
Melanie cringed. “Ouch. Are you sure you didn’t kill him or crack his skull?”
“Naw, he’s fine, Melanie,” Sadie spoke up before Winnie had a chance to defend her actions. “Guy with that kind of head isn’t going to die from a little crack on the noggin. Besides, Emma here saw him talking to one of those creepy guys outside, remember?”
Emma’s heart sank. She should have said something earlier. Now everyone would wonder why she kept that to herself. Winnie had caught her leaving the kitchen and probably figured out why she left in such a hurry.
“I know,” Melanie said, patting Emma’s shoulder. “Emma was just telling us that. I’m glad you ladies are alert. I don’t know if I’d have even noticed.”
Emma had a feeling Melanie was exaggerating, that she’d have thought plenty of it if the younger woman had seen what she and Hazel witnessed. But she was grateful for the vote of confidence and for being included in the congratulations being passed around by the ladies under the table. She almost felt … accepted.
“I need to call Hugh,” Melanie said. “He doesn’t know you’ve subdued Mr. Jackson. He’ll be relieved to hear it, I’m sure.” She reached into her pocket, flipped open the cell phone, and hit his number. Emma watched as Melanie waited for him to answer and saw a flicker of concern cross her face when it didn’t happen. Melanie snapped the phone shut. “He must have turned it off. I’ll try again in a minute. Well, ladies, what next?”
Emma surprised herself by speaking up first. “What’s this all about, Melanie? I’m all for putting Mr. Jackson in his place, but what’s his connection to the men with the guns out there?”
“Yes, Melanie, what are they doing here? And what about our husbands? Are they in danger, too?” Winnie piped up next.
Melanie held up her hand then put her finger to her lips. “Good questions, ladies. But let’s take this one thing at a time. First of all, we have to be sure these guys don’t know where we are in the house. They’re the ones with the guns.” She looked at each one of the women in turn. They all nodded in agreement. “Okay, as far as what this is all about. I’m not sure of all the details. Hugh wasn’t able to tell me much. But it seems that these guys are after Bristol.”
Winnie gasped. “Bristol? Bristol Diggs? Our Bristol Diggs? Are you sure?”
“Just how many guys by the name of Bristol Diggs do you know, anyway, Winnie?” Sadie said. Emma hid a smile behind her hand. Sadie had a point there.
“No need to get sassy with me, Sadie Simms. Just checking, that’s all. Seems Mr. Diggs is about as mild-mannered as a man can be. How could he be all mixed …?”
Melanie held her hand up again. “Ladies, ladies. Let’s keep it down, okay? Yes, Winnie, our Bristol. I know it seems odd, but Hugh said Bristol told him he used to be a detective before moving to Road’s End. Seems he’s made some powerful enemies in his line of work, and these guys have tracked him down. Hugh said a young man over at the church—your great nephew, I think, Winnie—saw them at a gas station back by the highway a few hours ago. I’m not sure what connection Mr. Jackson has with them, though. Maybe he drove them here? Maybe they wanted a man inside the inn while they did their dirty work over at the church. That remains ...”
“Sherman? Sherman DeSoto? My Sherman DeSoto?”
“Winnie, you sound like a parrot,” Sadie started in again. “Of course she meant your Sherman DeSoto. How many can there be?” She turned back to Melanie. “Go on, dear.”
“Well, there isn’t much more to say. Sherman told Hugh he saw the Hummer that Mr. Jackson presumably drove here—the one parked beside the inn—back down the road a ways with four guys in it—all dressed in white. They probably dressed that way to blend in with the snow. I guess the blizzard worked in their favor, didn’t it? So we have to assume that they’re out to hurt Bristol.”
Nobody said anything for a moment then Sadie spoke up. “And anyone else who gets in their way.”
I was halfway across the parking lot on the east side of the church when my phone rang. It had to be Mel, but I didn’t dare answer it; the glow fro
m the screen would stand out like a beacon. I scurried over to the line of trees flanking Rivermanse Lane, burrowed into the snow, and prayed that no one could hear the ringing. I doubted it, as the howling wind would probably mask any sound short of an F-22 flyover, but I didn’t take any chances. I rolled over on my side, trapping my phone between my body and the ground. It stopped after five rings. Bristol, I need you.
I was lying in the center of a group of maples—some with red and gold leaves still clinging to their branches despite the frenzied wind. I sat up slowly and looked around, but saw only white, or variations of white, in all directions. Bristol was nowhere to be seen and neither were the men out to get him. He could be anywhere, doing anything, and the women were trapped inside the inn with a killer, or at least a man who drove killers around. Unless I ran across Bristol by accident, I was on my own.
The snow attacked relentlessly. Bits of ice found their way down my neck, into my eyes and ears, up my sleeves. The left side of my body was numb from lying in the snow. I inched up slowly against a tree trunk to hide my movement. Nothing out there yet. When the wind cleared the snow in front of me for a split second, I could see a small glow, probably from a candle, in a couple of the windows at the inn, but then even that disappeared. Mel probably blew them out. They were in the dark in there, but that was better than being a handy target for armed men on the outside looking in. I didn’t doubt that Melanie could take care of herself but to add a houseful of senior citizen ladies to the mix complicated things. Please, Lord, be with them. Be with Bristol. Be with the men inside the church. And be with me. Keep watch over Your children for we are weak and scared and cold. Very, very cold.
Emma kept her eyes on Melanie.
“Nobody’s going to get hurt, ladies,” Melanie said. “We have Mr. Jackson all tied up, and Hugh and the others know what’s going on. We’re not in this by ourselves, you know.” She patted Emma’s hand. “You know what? We should pray. Let’s bow our heads.”
Misstep (The Road's End Series Book 1) Page 13
