Emma tried to pull her hand away—no way was she going to pray—but Melanie held her fingers tightly.
They took the hand of whoever was sitting next to them, bowed their heads, and closed their eyes. Hazel was sitting on the other side of Emma, and before she could stop her, Hazel grabbed her other hand. Emma sighed and waited, eyes open, for the prayer to end.
“Dear Lord, as You know, we’re in trouble here,” Melanie spoke. “Please be with us, Lord. Keep our husbands and all the others here in town safe from the men who would do evil among us. In Jesus’ Name, we pray. Amen.” There were amens all around. The ladies looked up, and Sadie clunked her head on the bottom of the table again.
“Ouch. Okay, now what, Melanie?” Sadie said.
“I’m not sure, but I think I’m going to snuff the rest of the candles in the living and dining room, upstairs, too, and check out the house. No sense giving those guys a better chance at seeing us. Let’s make them guess where we are. You’re sure Mr. Jackson is tied up tight in there?”
“Yep, he’s fine, but I’ll check him just to be sure. Maybe crack him over the head again just for grins.”
“Sadie!”
“Just kidding, Melanie, just kidding. But I gotta say I didn’t trust that guy from the git-go. Has a shady look about him, you know?”
“Well, he’s not my favorite man, either, but maybe there’s more to the story than we know.”
“Like what?” Winnie said. “You think they kidnapped him and made him drive them here and be obnoxious and rude and lazy? ’Cause that’s what he is, you know. And mean. Let’s not forget mean.”
“I know. I know. But it just doesn’t seem right to judge him without knowing exactly what’s up. He could be a victim of circumstance, you know.”
“Melanie,” Hazel said, “you mean well, but honey, you’re naïve. I’ve been a pastor’s wife for forty years now, and I’ve seen my share of good people stuck in bad circumstances when things happen that are beyond their control. But our Mr. Jackson isn’t one of them. He’s just plain nasty. Nasty man, that’s all I’ve got to say.”
“You’re probably right, ladies. But let’s just forego judging him until we find out all the facts. Besides, it’s not up to us to judge anybody, is it? That’s the Lord’s job, and I have full confidence that He can do that just fine without our help!”
Someone sniffed. Probably Winnie. She never did like anyone telling her what to do. But in this case, Emma found herself agreeing. That was odd. Emma couldn’t remember ever agreeing with Winnie Wyandotte. She couldn’t help but smile. Stranger things had happened, but not many. She backed up as far as she could to let Melanie out from underneath the table and watched her peer over the top, then slowly scuttle across the floor to the archway between the kitchen and dining room.
After Melanie left the room, Sadie turned to the rest of them. “Well, ladies, what’ll we do now? Any suggestions?”
“I think we need to check on Mr. Delbert T. Jackson and make good and sure his hands are still tied behind his back.” Hazel Parry spoke up. “I don’t trust that man any farther than I could toss him into a stiff wind.”
“If you ask me, Sadie, we need to do more than that,” Winnie added. “I think we need to get him out of here. Take him someplace where we can interrogate him.”
“Interrogate him? For what?” Emma spoke before she could stop herself.
“For whatever he knows, silly.”
“And just what is he supposed to know?”
“Well, for starters, what they’re doing here, what they plan to do with Bristol if they get hold of him, if they’re going to hurt any of the rest of us, what their M.O. is…”
“M.O.?”
“Modus operandi,” Hazel said. “Bad guys have M.O.s all the time. It’s how they operate, the way they do things. You know, like how they rob a bank.”
“Are these guys robbing a bank? Because if they are, they’re out of luck. We don’t have one.”
“Well, no, I don’t suppose they are—robbing a bank, that is—but still, we need to know what their plan of action is. Who sent them? Who’s their wheel man?”
Sadie seemed exasperated. “Hazel, they don’t have a wheel man.”
“Yes, they do. It’s Mr. Jackson. He’s the guy behind the wheel. He drove them here. Don’t you ever watch The Rockford Files or Magnum, P.I. or James Bond movies? If you did, you’d know these things, Sadie.”
“And just how often do I need to know these things, Hazel? Once in a blue moon maybe?”
“Well, you need to know it now, don’t you?”
“Their motors operetti? I don’t think so.”
“Modus ... that’s modus… operandi, Sadie. Are you making fun of me?”
“No, Hazel, I’m not making fun of you. I’m just explaining that I don’t need to know how these guys operate. They have guns. That’s how they operate. Someone gets in their way, they shoot ’em. Simple.”
“Well, it’s not so simple if you’re the one in their way, now is it?”
“No, it’s not, so that’s why we’re going to stay out of their way.”
Hazel seemed mollified for the moment. “Okay, so where were we? What to do with Mr. Jackson, right?”
“That’s what I asked, yes,” Emma said. “But somehow we got off on the topic of interrogating him.”
“That’s right,” Winnie said. “I say we drag him around the yard a few times and show him who’s boss. Then when he’s good and cold and tired, he spills his guts.”
“Just who is the boss?”
“We are, Emma,” Winnie said.
Emma’s lips puckered. “We are? Are you sure? Because I don’t see any of us dragging him around the yard, leastways, not without a tractor.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Emma? You’ve been stuck up there in that mansion for too many years. Where’d your spunk go?” Winnie said.
“Probably where everybody else’s went, Winnie. To the old folks’ home.”
“Well, not mine. Mine is still right here,” she thumped her chest, “and it’s alive and well and ready to drag that sorry excuse for a man lying in there in the pantry around the yard for a little while.”
“’Til he spills his guts?” Emma said.
Winnie nodded. “’Til he spills his guts.”
Emma thought about it for a minute, her eyes moving from one woman to another. They seemed to be in varying stages of incredulity. How could she possibly justify dragging a man around in the snow, especially with a bunch of women she hadn’t spoken to in decades? Trouble was, she couldn’t think of any good reason not to.
Aside from getting shot, that is.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I set my sights on the inn and took a last look around before making my way across Rivermanse Lane to the trees on the other side. If no one had spotted me yet, I had a decent chance of scuttling across undetected. If they knew I was there, though, I was a sitting duck. I wondered briefly where Bristol was but shook the thought away as quickly as it came to mind. Bristol could take care of himself, far better than I could, for that matter. Besides, I hadn’t heard any gunshots, so for the time being, at least, I had to assume he was still alive and kicking.
I peered through the drifting snow but couldn’t make anything out beyond about two feet in front of me. That took me only to the edge of the road. They could be standing six inches from there and I wouldn’t know it until I ran smack-dab into them. But that was a chance I had to take. Lord, please be my eyes and ears. Help me to figure my way through this mess.
I stood up slowly, hugging the tree with my back, and glanced in each direction. When I was fully upright, I moved one foot forward, but something made me hesitate before stepping away from the safety of the tree trunk. Had I heard something? Or was it just the wind howling through the branches, barreling its way past the trees, over the rooftops and between buildings? I leaned forward a couple of inches, craning my neck, but couldn’t see anything. Still, something kept
me from taking the plunge. What was the matter with me? I’d been in worse messes in the military. Suck it up and get out there.
I took a deep breath, counted to three, and stepped forward. So far, so good. A gust of wind cleared the way in front of me for a few seconds, and I could see there was no one within about four feet. I took another step, then another. If my calculations were correct, I was nearing the center of the lane where it humped up in the middle. It was just a two-track, and grass grew in the center where tires never touched it. I tried to calculate the chances of running into someone at that exact spot. I gave up after about two seconds; math was never my best subject and with the way my day had been going, my odds weren’t all that great, anyway. Better to trust that God had my back and just forge ahead.
By this time, I’d lost all feeling in my face. I assumed I still had a nose and a couple of ears, but I couldn’t have proven it. When I thawed out, it was gonna hurt. Just a few more steps and I’d be on the other side. I could hide in the trees for a minute or so before traipsing across the backyard and heading for the back door. I didn’t know how I was going to let Melanie know I was outside, so I added that to my list of things to worry about later.
I took a quick look around then buried my chin into my chest, tucked my hands into my pockets, and stepped out again. If I hit someone, at least I’d be barreling into them head-first. Instead, I found myself hip-deep in a hole and soon after that, flat on my face in a snowdrift. I nearly drowned before I regained my footing. Before I could scramble to my feet, I saw the footprints.
They were fresh, deep, and big. Worst of all, they weren’t mine.
Emma swallowed hard as Sadie instructed the ladies to make sure Melanie didn’t come back into the kitchen before they had a chance to get the hog-tied Mr. Jackson out of his prison and into the cold. “Sadie,” Emma said, “are you sure we have to do this? Isn’t there some other way? Like doing this in the house, for crying out loud?”
Sadie looked at her and said, “I’m sure there is a better way, Emma, but for the life of me, I can’t think of a single thing those animals out there would expect less than to have us little ol’ ladies traipse out there with their Mr. Jackson and rough him up a bit.”
Emma swallowed. This wasn’t going well. “But why? I don’t get it. He’s just as tied up in the pantry as he’d be outside. And we have to go out there in the cold and snow in the middle of a bunch of men with guns, no less, to do this.”
“Because we have to get him out of this house and find those guys if we’re going to be able to overpower them.”
“Overpower them? Are you crazy? Have you looked in the mirror lately? Because I have, and I haven’t seen anyone who can overpower four armed men while hauling another one around in the snow.”
Sadie sighed and put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Emma, Emma, calm down. No one’s asking you to overpower all four of them. We’ll do it one at a time and we’ll work together. But if we have Mr. Jackson out of the house, there’s no way he can get untied and join the others.”
“You mean we don’t have to worry where he is while we’re … uh, overpowering …?”
Sadie nodded. “Now you’re getting it.” She pointed in the general direction of the back yard. “I saw Pastor Foster working on that old henhouse back there. It’s not cozy, but he’s covered the holes in the walls, and I saw him dragging some fresh hay in there. Mr. Jackson’ll be fine until the police can get here.”
Emma couldn’t get used to the idea. “But how …?”
“Create a diversion at the front of the inn. Don’t you ever watch any television? If we draw them to the front of the house, they’ll ignore the back. We drag him to the henhouse, toss him in, and then take out the others.”
“Take them out?”
“Clobber ’em.”
“Oh.”
Emma still had her concerns—big, fat ones—but Sadie and the others seemed so sure of themselves. Could this really work? She had a feeling Melanie Foster was about to have a stroke, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. Perhaps Sadie was right; maybe surprise and diversion and getting Mr. Jackson out of the house were the only ways they could get the jump on these guys. Oh good grief, she was starting to talk like them. She shook her head and squared her shoulders. She hadn’t done much in the way of manhandling villains in the last seventy years or so, but she’d do whatever it took and worry about the consequences later.
Sadie and Winnie barked whispered orders over one another as fast as they could. Sadie put herself in charge of hauling the hapless Delbert T. Jackson out of the pantry and Winnie agreed to lead a group of the rest of the ladies to the library. The ladies dispersed to separate parts of the house. Emma was on Sadie’s squad, along with Hazel Parry and Lorena Phillips. Winnie commandeered Ruby Headley, who had finally removed her flower-bedecked hat and set it on the back of one of the wingback chairs that flanked the living room fireplace “to fool those rascals,” Ruby’s grown daughter, Grace Headley, and Martha Washington. Emma wondered how long it would take Melanie to wander around the house on her knees before she realized the ladies had flown the coop.
The last Emma saw of Winnie’s group was Martha Washington’s polyester-clad rear end rounding the corner of the kitchen doorway as they crept into the dining room. From there, they’d crawl two doors down the hallway to the library. As Emma’s group reached the pantry and stood on either side of the entrance, Emma said a quick prayer. From where had that come? Sadie opened the door inward.
Sadie and Hazel walked into the pantry and Emma could hear some scuffling. Apparently, Mr. Jackson wasn’t cooperating. A split second later, Emma was flat on her back and Delbert T. Jackson was sprawled across the floor on his face, his hands and feet trussed up behind him and a string mop dangling from his mouth. She could see Sadie and Hazel just beyond him, hands on their hips, grinning.
She couldn’t be certain from that angle, but she thought Mr. Jackson looked miffed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
This was just great. I’d muddled my way right into a waist-high snow bank and now someone—probably armed, no doubt an ornery cuss, and not about to help out a pastor flailing around in the snow—was within just a few feet of me. It occurred to me that I had fewer adventures in the military. Should’ve stayed put. Retirement, my eye.
I stopped thrashing and slowly regained my balance. They were fresh tracks, all right. The wind hadn’t yet had a chance to blow them back in or even smooth over the edges, so my guess was that they’d been there less than a minute. Probably more like thirty seconds. Where on earth could he be? I hadn’t noticed the tracks on the way across the road, but that didn’t mean much. He could’ve come from a different direction or even walked parallel to me and I wouldn’t have noticed him—or him me, for that matter—in the raging wind and snow. Thank You, Lord, for Your divine providence, for using this horrific weather to Your advantage and for my safety.
I stood still and tried to control my breathing. I wasn’t sure if it was ragged from my tumble into the snow, the way the wind ripped the air from my nose, or from sheer terror. Just between you and me, I’d vote for sheer terror. I stood in the ditch that I now realized ran along one side of Rivermanse Lane. Thankfully, it was surrounded by tall oaks and maples, and I blended right in with the tree trunks. About as dumb as one, too.
Before I could climb out of the ditch, though, I had to figure out if I was heading in the same direction as the owner of the footprints or if he already had the drop on me. I supposed I could be sneaking up on him, but the odds of that happening were pretty slim. After all, he was the armed one, the guy on the move, the guy dressed in white; I was the unarmed, snowbound pastor with the bomber jacket that wasn’t doing a thing to keep me warm and was, in fact, filled with snow up to my elbows. If I hadn’t been in mortal danger, I might have laughed right out loud. As it was, I didn’t have the oxygen to spare. It took all the breath I had just to panic.
Was I meeting him or following him? W
here was he? And even more importantly, could he see me? The more I thought about it, the more I realized the only direction I hadn’t looked was up. Could it be? Could he actually be in the tree above me, ready to spring down and knock me flat—or worse, shoot me?
Before the questions had cleared my mind, before the question mark was even formed in my head, I had my answer.
Emma almost felt sorry for Delbert Jackson. Not quite, but close. With his hands and feet bound behind his back then linked together to keep him from enjoying even the small comfort of stretching out flat, he looked about as uncomfortable as any human being she’d ever seen. On the other hand, he’d driven a bunch of armed brutes to Road’s End with the apparent purpose of hurting their friend Bristol Diggs. And that wouldn’t do. Of course, if he’d known he was going to come up against Sadie Simms, he might have taken a closer look at the life path he chose to follow. Too late for that now, buddy. Too late for that.
She rolled over to her hands and knees and rose slowly while Mr. Jackson squirmed like a “low down, rotten snake in the grass” as she recalled Bristol saying. He mumbled through the mop. She couldn’t make out what he said, but it no doubt involved cussing. Fortunately, the mop did more than make him look silly. It kept him from giving the ladies away to either the men lurking outside or to Melanie, who had yet to discover their plan.
Winnie’s gang returned just then with a stash of antique farm tools. A demented grin creased Sadie’s face when she spotted the rusty implements. “They’ll make great weapons,” she cackled. Emma would sure hate to have Sadie after her. She was dangerous enough just rounding up chickens. She could only imagine her elderly neighbor’s glee at whipping real desperadoes.
At the last minute, Sadie dispatched Emma to the closet in the dining room to gather the ladies’ coats. She came back laden with outerwear and after hastily donning their coats, the women were set to go. Winnie and her underlings headed for the front door.
Misstep (The Road's End Series Book 1) Page 14
