by J. L. Salter
Chet shook his head again slowly.
“So I called 9-1-1 and they just told me to call Wildlife and Fisheries. Dispatcher gave their number in the capitol. The Frankfort guy seemed glad I called, acted like he realized the danger, understood my concern, et cetera. I said I was worried about the bullets coming at me, but also about the dogs running loose behind my cabin. He said, ‘Dogs don’t know what fences mean’.”
Chet’s lips formed a small grin.
“But he said he’d contact somebody local. Surprisingly, I got a call a few minutes later. Local man. I told him the story. He also said ‘Dogs don’t know what a fence means.’ I began to wonder if that’s their standard response. Anyway, he wanted to know where I was.”
“He know the area?”
“Yeah. Said he knew exactly where I was and he got there about ten minutes later.”
“Who was he?”
“Redheaded guy named Elvis something. Told him I thought it was the same hunter from before when I’d gone over and asked him not to shoot my direction. So Elvis asked me where and I said, ‘Let me go with you and I’ll show you right where he is’.”
“Did he?”
“Yeah. I steered him into the big meadow and then toward the fence on your south border. We could see the guy’s white truck still parked on the dairy road.”
“Where was the dogs by then?”
“I couldn’t hear them anymore, but Elvis rolled down his window, cocked his ear, and then pointed southwest. He’s got good ears. He said he’d go over and talk to the guy, check his guns and stuff, and see if he was legal. Whether he’d shot a deer out of season. And warn him about shooting toward my cabin.”
Chet grunted again.
“So I asked Elvis what kind of reaction he expected. He thought a second and said, ‘He’ll probably say the dogs don’t know what fences are for.’ So I said, ‘Well, tell him his stinking dogs were over a half mile across the property line and that’s evidently too far for him to manage them properly’.”
“Elvis. Hmm.” Chet stroked his chin. “Don’t think I know him.”
“Well, Elvis was very professional and a likeable guy. Redhead and all. I don’t know very many likeable redheads.”
“Hah!” Ellie’s sudden cackle signaled her return from the kitchen. “Likeable redheads.”
Chet grinned. “Ellie here used ta be redheaded.”
“Before all this grey chased it off.” Ellie pointed with her wrist, since her hands held dishes.
“I knew another redhead.” Chet cleared his throat loudly. “Miss America in ‘44. Red haired and hot-headed. Quite a looker.”
“You hush about that old beauty queen.” Ellie dried her hands as she entered. “She’d sooner shoot you than tell you howdy.”
Kelly inquired.
“She was in the paper about pulling a gun on a guy trying ta rob her junkyard barn.” Chet explained. “The deputy told her ta put down her gun and she told him ta do his job and arrest the thief. Meantime, the thief was complaining that he would’ve already been gone except she shot out his tires and said, ‘You’re going ta stay ‘til the law gets here, or I’m going ta shoot you’.”
“Still feisty, ain’t she?” Ellie sat on the sofa on the other side of Chet’s rocker.
“And evidently well-armed.” Kelly smiled.
“Lives up north of here, outside Eubank.” Chet pointed. “She came down ta our high school reunion, fiftieth. Sang a few songs for us.”
“What’s her name?”
“Venus Ramey.” Those syllables rolled from Chet’s tongue like they tasted exceptionally delicious.
Ellie made a raspberry noise.
Kelly was about to leave. “Pop, how far do you want me to get involved in stuff like that hunter and his dogs?”
Chet thought for such a long moment that Kelly wondered if he still intended to reply. “Ya did right ta call Elvis, and it was right not ta walk over where he’s shooting. Too dangerous. Some of those hunters shoot at movement in the bushes.” He paused. “And I’m glad ya told me.” Chet cleared his throat and looked up at Kelly from his rocker. “If ya don’t protect where you’re living, there ain’t nobody else going ta do it for ya. Ya got ta protect yourself.”
Chapter Four
September 28 — Friday — late afternoon
When Perra barked loudly, Kelly peeked out the front window and saw a State Police cruiser bouncing over the ruts in her driveway from the cemetery road.
Kelly went to the porch and waited until Trooper Fred Lee Means got up the steps. She sat in one rocker and pointed to the other, nearby. “How’s it going, Fred Lee? Have a seat.”
He remained standing, which likely meant it was not a social call. Means was over six foot four inches barefoot, though nobody had seen his feet since he was a boy… except maybe his wife, Gwen. In his uniform boots, he was right at six-and-a-half-feet tall. Kelly didn’t know his weight but guessed the trooper was about two-hundred-eighty-five pounds. With his vest and equipment he would exceed three hundred. Means was a substantial and powerful man, but he wore his bulk and strength with a calm, modest air.
“It’s real pretty up here, Kelly.” Means looked every direction but west, not possible from the front porch. “I should’ve gotten Pop Walter to rent this place to me and Gwen.” He grinned slyly.
“Then I would’ve had to arm wrestle you for it.”
Without reply, Means leaned against the corner post — the railing itself might not be substantial enough — and faced her.
Kelly assumed she knew why he’d come because she’d heard some buzz at the courthouse a few days before, but evidently Means felt a need to ease into it. Uncomfortable waiting for that topic, she deflected. “Have they been doing any more blasting around here? For the new highway or something?”
“Not that I know about. Why?”
“Oh, it’s probably nothing. I’ve heard some loud booms. Not piercing like gunfire. Heavier kind of sound, more like blasting or something.” Kelly waved her hand. “Not important. So I guess you’ve heard more about that business this past summer. I was told that J.D. and his cousin are both out on bail.” That terrifying break-in had never been far from her mind since May.
Means arranged the accoutrements on his belt so he could lean more comfortably. “I’m sorry, Kelly. I really thought they’d both be in the federal pen for twenty.”
“So how’d he get out?” She could still visualize the cousin’s stringy blond hair and smell his horrific breath.
“Not sure. Some bizarre technicality that their lawyer worked into a motion for mistrial.” Means patted his thick, heavy belt. “Completely bogus, of course. I mean they caught the cousin on your premises with illegal weapons…”
“And drugs in his car. And I’ve still got the scar where he hit me.” She paused to touch it. “And J.D. was on his way here when Ellie and Diane rescued us.”
Means nodded and quickly shifted focus. “Are you still keeping that shotgun right by your front door?”
“Yeah. Since Ginny left, I moved it back to the door again. Why?”
“That’s not a good place, Kelly. For one thing it’s easily spotted by other people, including kids.”
Kelly’s reply was terse. “Look, I do put it away when anybody’s here. Except Mitch or Wade or Pop.”
“But it’s a potential danger to have a firearm so easily accessible if another perpetrator ever bothers you. Maybe he breaks in with a crowbar just wanting to rob the place. Now he’s got Pop’s loaded shotgun. See how it escalates?”
“I get your point, Fred Lee. But you’re missing mine. If a guy with a crowbar comes in on me, he won’t just take my toaster and leave nicely. If somebody breaks in, I’m in danger. If I hadn’t hidden that shotgun while Ginny was here, maybe I could’ve kept those freaks outside my cabin. You know, ‘til the cops arrived.”
The trooper shook his head again slowly. “I’m not suggesting you change. You want to protect yourself, or try to. That’s adm
irable. But a weapon can almost always be turned back on the person holding it, even with a trained professional.”
“I’m going to do what I can with what I have… to protect myself. I’m not going to call you guys and wait helplessly, hoping you show up before whoever’s busting in takes and does…”
Means looked distressed.
Kelly reached over and touched his muscled arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it personally. I meant the 9-1-1 folks. I know you’d be here as quick as you got the word.”
He looked at the place her fingers had briefly touched and then he nodded. “It’s okay, I understand. You’re right to want to protect yourself, Kelly. Just keep your defensive tools less exposed, so they don’t draw attention to themselves.” Means paused. “But I’m also suggesting that you be real careful when you point that cannon at somebody. You better be far enough apart that they can’t reach out and grab it… or knock it away.”
She had more to say, but decided to pick her battles.
It had been cloudy when Means arrived and suddenly a light drizzle began. The breeze blew it up on the porch a bit, so Kelly motioned for them to go inside. She took the recliner and the big trooper sat on the loveseat. It took two tries to arrange the equipment on his belt to allow him a comfortable position.
“I need to say one more thing about that old scattergun Pop loaned you.” He pointed toward it. “Somebody threatens you — direct threat, preferably with witnesses — you have legal right to use necessary, reasonable force to protect yourself. But only what’s required to neutralize the threat. If he just pauses in your driveway and you shoot him, you’ll be the one in jail.”
“And if he won’t leave?”
“Call 9-1-1 and tell the creep that you’ve called.”
“What if that doesn’t scare him off?”
“Then you can show him that old scattergun and remind him it’s loaded.”
“And then?”
“If he attacks you, at home or anywhere else, use whatever means necessary to neutralize the threat and eliminate his ability to attack you.”
“How do lawyers define that?”
“You never have settled for the stock answers, have you?” Means smiled sadly. “If you’re attacked, and you can’t run and don’t have assistance… blast him. It’s better if you just disable him. But if that doesn’t stop his attack, and sometimes it won’t, blow his head off.”
She nodded silently.
He cleared his throat softly. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you again.”
Kelly eyed Means for a moment and then touched the back of his massive hand. “Fred Lee, you sometimes just flat out amaze me. You’ve got a soft side to you that most folks probably never see.”
The large trooper grinned slightly. “Yeah. Most people see the badge, my gun, the heavy belt. Folks don’t usually look beneath or beyond the uniform.”
“I do, and I like what I see. You’re a good man, Fred Lee. A real good man.”
His face looked flushed.
“Of course you’re also a married man, and my dear friend.” Kelly immediately regretted saying that out loud. It would sound strained somehow, to further clarify reasons she and Fred Lee could never be together. Though that didn’t stop her from imagining what was beneath his uniform and massive belt — besides a genuinely good, big heart and a discerning mind.
Means had been watching her face. “So, anything else to tell me?”
She smiled and blushed slightly. “Nah. Just thinking back to how I ended up dating your brother Ted instead of you.”
He smiled. “I don’t know for the life of me why you and Ted ever hit it off. But I think I know why you and I never dated.”
She looked into his eyes and wondered what was coming.
He paused like he was thinking how to phrase it. “When you got divorced, I hadn’t started dating Gwen yet.” Means cleared his throat. “Well anyway, I really liked what I saw, but...”
“But?” She shifted in her chair.
“Too skittish, I thought. After you and Rob split up, you were… you seemed real jumpy.”
“Jumpy?”
“Maybe I’m not explaining it right. In fact, I probably shouldn’t…”
“Well, you can’t stop on jumpy and skittish.”
The trooper looked around like he wished somebody would bring a message to extricate him from their conversation. “I’ve known some women, right after a bad divorce, who started hating men — all men — really hating them. I guess I kind of thought that was happening with you. I mean, that maybe you also felt that way about men.”
“So you assumed, after Rob, that I hated men — which, I did actually, but only for a while — and that’s why you never asked me out?”
He smiled softly. “I guess so. Then when you showed up at that picnic with my little brother, I felt like kicking myself all the way to Clifty Creek. I’d let the best looking woman in Pulaski slip through my fingers and then had to sit by and watch little Ted enjoy your company.”
Kelly reached into his midsection to pinch his side, but encountered Kevlar instead. “I know why we never dated,” she said, smiling wickedly, “you always had your armor on.”
He gave her a long look. “I don’t sleep in my vest, Kelly.”
She lowered her eyes. Their conversation had already gone too far and she knew they both realized it. It was time for a light comment but she couldn’t think of one. She valued Fred Lee’s friendship and didn’t want to screw up anything. What could have been — maybe — three years ago was presently just a historical footnote.
By the time Kelly refocused, she realized Fred Lee was standing in her cabin doorway on his way out.
“Got to go, Kelly.”
She nodded. “Thanks…” The word trailed after him as he trod heavily on each plank step in the light rain. Her lips were still slightly parted with the remains of that word when Fred Lee’s cruiser headed north on her rutted gravel driveway, up to Butler Cemetery Road.
If there had been a window of opportunity for Kelly to be with Means, that window was sealed. Kelly could look through it, perhaps wistfully, but dared not stand in front of the glass too long for fear she’d want to jimmy the lock or break a pane. Or do something else which would jeopardize their friendship, the trooper’s marriage, and her relationship with Mitch.
She and Mitch had a wonderful relationship, personally and professionally, and loved each other deeply. That she insisted on some distance and space clearly bothered Mitch, but he respected her needs, even though he seemed relatively clueless what Kelly’s needs were. When she’d tried to explain them, her reasons sounded pretty shallow, even to herself. No wonder Mitch festered about her degree of commitment and seemed jealous of every man she spoke with.
Commitment was an ongoing source of friction between Mitch and Kelly: Why wouldn’t she let Mitch move into her cabin? Why wouldn’t she move into his place? Why did she refuse to get married again? Tiresome to wrangle about it repeatedly.
It wasn’t so much that she had cumbersome restraints on their relationship. Kelly needed her own space, her own place, and time to herself. She didn’t need, or want, to be accountable to anyone. She knew women who were willing to sacrifice nearly anything simply to ensure they would have some male — any male — with them when they got older.
Kelly was not willing to live like that.
Still on the recliner, Kelly leaned forward with elbows on her knees and palms under her chin. From that seat she could see out the front windows. An enormous red-tailed hawk swooped over the field to the east. Hunting for prey. Hungry to kill. Search and destroy.
Perra dashed outside through the pet hatch to respond to barks from the neighbor dog seven hundred feet to the east. Soon, Perra came in from the rain and spent five minutes vigorously rubbing her sides and back along the front skirt of the loveseat in Kelly’s living space.
Gato, perched on the small dining table, watched in horror. With a combination of astonishment
and petulance in his wide eyes, the big feline seemed to be saying, You let her get away with everything!
Kelly shook her head. Sibling rivalry across species. What next?
Kelly often wondered what went on inside the brain of her enormous Maine Coon cat, but Gato was rather circumspect.
Little Perra was fairly easy to figure out. Her thought processes certainly were relatively simple and probably limited to food, fun, chase, TLC. Maybe others. Yes: defend turf and protect human companion. In that respect, the little canine was quite like the simplicity and somewhat limited range of human males: food, fun, chase, TLC, protection. Of course, the TLC for human males involved a lot more than scratching the ears, patting the rump, and stroking the shoulders. Considerably more.
But in most other respects, if a woman could get along with a dog, she could probably tolerate a man being around. About the same amount of barking, whining, and scratching — even a few similar smells.
The human male’s instinct to protect was certainly like that of domestic dogs. What about loyalty and devotion? Hmm. That seemed more relative in men, depending partly on their age at the time. Oh well.
Chapter Five
September 28 — Friday — a few minutes later
At Kelly’s cabin, the light drizzle continued. Temperature was still moderate but a sweater or light jacket would be needed before long.
Mitch drove up, mounted the steps, and tapped on the front porch window pane. She waved him in.
Perra jumped from the loveseat and trotted to the door wagging her tail. She sniffed Mitch’s legs and feet, and then zipped out the front door before he closed it. Gato, napping on the kitchen table, merely looked up at Mitch and then blinked his eyes.
“Just now passed Trooper Means as I turned off Highway 27.” Mitch shook off some of the light rain.
“Yeah. He was here to warn me about J.D. and his cousin being out of prison.”
“When? How?” Mitch sputtered. “Did they escape?”
She explained, in terms as economical as those Means had used.
