PICKED OFF

by Linda Lovely

  “But not innocent of some sort of skullduggery,” he added. “How did she know Zack’s phone had been used by someone here? I doubt Zack willingly supplied her with a ‘Find My Phone’ app.”

  I yawned. The adrenaline rush had ebbed, leaving me beat. “Maybe she’s telling the truth. Maybe the team bought phones for all the players and pre-loaded them with tracking apps. A good way to keep tabs on their comings and goings without them being the wiser.”

  Eva tried to stifle a yawn of her own. “We’re not going to figure this out tonight. Here’s the good news. Reporter snoops, the Lemmons, and any stooges they might have hired should have lost all interest in Udderly Kidding Dairy’s inhabitants. We’re in the clear with the law and the lawless. And I’m so tired I’ll collapse if I’m vertical five more minutes.”

  I liked Eva’s hypothesis. We’d become yesterday’s news. Mom and Dad left, and I headed to bed.

  Cashew was already fast asleep, curled in a nest she’d created atop my bed’s comforter. Her tail didn’t even twitch as I slid between the sheets and jostled her perch.

  Despite my own bone deep fatigue, I had a hard time drifting off to sleep. I wondered where Carol might be trying to sleep. Then there was that blasted phone. What made it so valuable? I thought about the boudoir video. What kind of woman would want a permanent record of such a coupling? Hmm. Did she know? Sala was asleep when Tattooed Tush, whoever he was, set up the camera. Maybe the woman had no idea he memorialized their bedroom gymnastics on video.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Morning seemed to arrive five minutes after I nodded off. Seeing my breath while still in my bedroom convinced me to slip Mom and Dad’s Iowa State hoodie over my head. Once I walked outside, I wished they’d brought me a parka.

  It had rained in the night. Apparently hard, turning patches of bare ground muddy and slick. I hustled between the barn and feed troughs, careful not to slide in the muck. Tammy the Pig, nestled deep in a mud puddle, greeted me with a friendly oink.

  The crisp October air kept my mind focused on two things, staying warm and finishing my chores with record speed. Actually, crisp is a poor description. The cutting wind’s long icy fingers kept staging sneak attacks down my neck and up my pant legs.

  My final task was to lead Lilly’s mule, Rita, and Eva’s horse, Hank, to their assigned pasture. We couldn’t let Hank and Rita share field accommodations with our goats because the equines were pigs. Sorry, Tammy, guess I should call them gluttons. In fields occupied solely by goats we could fill feed bins to the brim and let the goats eat whenever they got hungry. Goats stop eating once their stomachs are full. Not equines. They’d gorge themselves until they exploded given an endless food supply. That’s also why the grass in Rita and Hank’s pasture was purposely scraggly.

  With the gate secure behind Rita and Hank, I made a beeline for the cabin to secure hot coffee and, I hoped, warm buns (mine).

  As I ran lickety-split toward my reward, Mollye’s van roared down the drive. What now? My friend wasn’t an early riser. If she was up this early, there was a good—make it a bad—reason.

  I intercepted Mollye on the cabin steps. Her right fist held the Monday morning edition of the Ardon Chronicle in a chokehold. Though she’d scrunched the paper into the shape of a jellyroll, I could make out Carol’s name in a front-page headline.

  “My considerate next-door neighbor is putting an addition on his house,” Moll grumped. “Started hammering at six in the freaking morning. Figured I might as well get up and read the paper.”

  “Is our local publisher stirring up new trouble?” I asked as I opened the cabin door eager to continue our conversation out of the cold.

  Mollye harrumphed. “You could say that.”

  “What now?” asked Eva, frowning as she poured coffee for herself.

  “The paper got wind that Carol’s missing,” Mollye began. “So, naturally, it’s suggesting she and Zack are involved in nefarious activities and had a falling out with fellow crooks. What other reason could there be for the attack on Zack and Carol’s disappearance? The Chronicle’s editorial urges readers not to vote for a person who’s gone missing under ‘suspicious circumstances.’”

  My aunt sank onto one of the kitchen chairs. I poured cups of hot—thank you, thank you, Eva—coffee for myself and Mollye before joining the twosome at the table.

  My aunt unfolded the newspaper and smoothed out the front page. With eyes closed, her fingers scrabbled back and forth across the newsprint as if she were reading braille.

  Her eyes suddenly blinked open. “What if Carol’s disappearance has nothing to do with Zack’s attack? What if someone has a political motive for taking her hostage or…” Eva swallowed hard before voicing her worst fear. “Or killing her? Would any of those CAVE extremists go that far? They’re not her only political enemies. The newspaper’s editorials are testimony to that.”

  Mollye’s mouth gaped open. Neither my friend nor I spoke. The preposterous idea seemed much less outrageous the longer we considered it.

  I shook my head. “Do you really think there’s enough incentive for a political enemy to kidnap or kill Carol? We’re talking about electing a governor not the president.”

  Eva used the palms of her hands to rub her eyes. She sighed. “Can’t rule it out. I’ve heard talk about a right-wing militia. The way these jokers rail on talk shows, I wonder what alternate reality they inhabit. They’re convinced government is out to get them. To confiscate their guns. Persecute born-agains. Threaten their way of life.”

  Mollye set down her coffee cup. “But would they murder Carol to make certain she doesn’t become governor?”

  “Murder is a little hard for me to swallow.” Eva shrugged. “But I wouldn’t put kidnapping past some of her foes. Or maybe Carol drove off on her own and suffered a stroke or heart attack. That alternative is almost as scary.”

  “Did the paper mention Chester?” I asked.

  “Only that the sheriff hoped to speak with him,” Mollye said. “Chester’s friends were quoted. Said their buddy left to visit relatives in Oconee County immediately after Zack Strong’s—quote unquote—‘brutal’ attack.”

  I shook my head and took a deep breath. “Wow. What sterling, unbiased reporting. No wonder you don’t take the paper, Eva.”

  A phone rang—the cabin’s land line—Eva’s preferred communication vehicle. My aunt jumped up to answer. The phone sat on a small hallway table, a location that made it equally inconvenient to answer from every cabin room. Eva saw no need for multiple telephones.

  “Hello.” Eva’s brows knitted, making me wonder whose voice she’d heard on the other end of the line. But a minute later she smiled. “Wonderful news. I’m on my way.”

  She hung up and treated Mollye and me to a delighted laugh. “At last some good news. Zack’s out of his coma. Looks like he’ll make a full recovery. No brain damage. Unfortunately, when he asked for his mom, a nurse hemmed and hawed. That made Zack assume she’d been attacked, too. The doctor wants me to come help calm Zack down. He’s in no condition to be riled.”

  “What will you tell Zack?” I asked. “Any suggestion she might be a hostage is going to make him worry even more.”

  “I’m not an idiot, you know. I am capable of finesse. I’ll assure Zack the authorities are on the case and we’re doing everything we can to help.”

  Eva stood. “Don’t forget we’re supposed to have lunch at Phil’s lake house. Even if I can’t make it, you need to go. He invited a dozen folks to celebrate our commitment to an Udderly conservation easement. The luncheon guests all have conservation easements on farms or timber tracts.”

  As soon as Eva left, Mollye rubbed her hands together in an oh-goody-let’s-get-going gesture. She grinned. “I asked myself, now where would CAVE disciples hide Carol if they kidnapped her? The answer came like a bolt out of the blue. And I know how to check it out risk-free.”r />
  My baloney detection monitor started pinging. Mollye’s plans were like miracle patent medicines, they seemed to offer infinite promise until you realized the side effects could kill you.

  “What? You know the location of a militia training ground? Or are you describing a CAVE-owned still or cult stronghold where trespassers get shot on sight?”

  “Just listen. Chester and a bunch of fellow losers belong to what they call a hunting club. Not sure they ever bag any wild game but they go there to massacre flocks of tin cans and brag on their weapons—hand guns, shotguns, semi-automatics. They built what is jokingly called a lodge up past Winding Creek. That sorry, run-down excuse for a building is a great hideaway. Only way to reach it is a long drive down a private dirt road. It’s miles from any main highway.”

  “If it’s such a great hideaway, how do you know about it?”

  “My Uncle Les belonged to the so-called hunt club before he accidentally shot off his big toe. That’s when Aunt Ethel confiscated his guns.”

  “And what’s your ‘risk-free’ plan to check it out? Why wouldn’t we be riddled with lead if we so much as poked one of our ten fully-attached toes over the property line?”

  “No need for a personal visit. I’ll coax Uncle Les into doing it for us,” Mollye answered. “If he sees signs Carol’s stashed there, we’ll alert the sheriff and he can stage a rescue. Uncle Les works a late-night shift so he’ll be sleeping now. He cuts off the phone and the doorbell so nothing interrupts his shuteye. I’ll call him early afternoon.”

  Pleased with her spying scheme, Mollye whistled as she vacated Udderly’s premises, presumably to give her overheated imagination time to cool before dreaming up another kidnap hideaway we needed to scout. “I’ll give you a call after I talk to Les. Toodle-oo.”

  With a few minutes alone and the morning farm chores complete, I started a pot of split pea soup. The way things were going there was no telling how many people would crowd around our kitchen table come suppertime. After I set the crockpot timer for eight hours, I started a grocery list. Before I could scoot my chair in, Cashew jumped up and claimed my lap, reminding me she was overdue for petting and maybe a little of that baby talk I’d ridiculed at the dog show. I conceded. Every few minutes, I put my list-making on pause to scratch behind her ears and stroke her silky fur. My pup’s rendition of contented sighs almost made life seem normal.

  I’d just added tarragon to my grocery list when my cell phone played the yodel from the Sound of Music’s “Lonely Goatherd.” My ringtone for Eva.

  I didn’t hear it often. If my aunt was using a cell phone, she had good reason. Not just wanting to pass the time and annoy everyone standing behind her in a grocery line.

  “Hi, Eva,” I said before she could say boo. It always flustered her that I knew who was calling before she spoke. To her that wreaked of black magic or, at least, no-good digital monkey business.

  “You sitting down?” Eva’s cheerful tone communicated more good news. “Got an update for you.”

  “Great. How’s Zack?”

  “Out of danger. He even wangled a release from the hospital tomorrow.”

  “Wow. Terrific, but isn’t that awfully soon? I mean he just woke up.”

  “The docs wanted to keep him longer, but Zack wants out. Says he can’t just laze about in a hospital bed while his mom’s missing.”

  “What did he say about the attack? Did he see who conked him?”

  “No. Whoever did it snuck up behind him. Zack was distracted, trying to get a signal on his cell phone, when his lights went out. Now will you quit asking questions and let me talk? Zack’s going to stay with us at Udderly. The break-in at Carol’s house rules it out as a place to stay. Anyway, his right arm’s in a sling to keep his shoulder immobile while the collarbone heals and they’re putting a boot on his broken ankle. That means he’s gonna need some help.”

  I thought about the kind of help he might need. “It’s fine with me, but I wonder if Zack might feel more comfortable staying with Paint or Andy?”

  “Oh, don’t be a prude. If Zack needs help with a zipper, I’ll give it a tug. Besides, Paint’s cabin’s too remote, and who knows what noisy critters might be boarding at Andy’s clinic.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, “though I’m not sure our animal menagerie is any quieter than Andy’s.”

  “I’ll give Zack my room,” Aunt Eva continued. “We’ll share. I figure you’ve shared mattress space with Mollye and I take up even less room.”

  I sputtered. Sleep with my aunt? Un uh, wasn’t going to happen. Hairy Pork Rinds. I could hear her snores through two sturdy closed doors. Worse, on the nights Billy didn’t sleep over, she switched off the lights long before I’d be ready to put down the book I was reading.

  “Tell you what.” I strived for a cheerful tone. “Let’s give Zack my bedroom. I’ll curl up on the love seat. It’s pretty comfortable. That’ll give each of us our own bed. No fighting over covers.”

  “Fine, if you think that’s best.” Eva replied in a sing-song voice. Her innocent tone convinced me this sleeping arrangement was her plan from the get-go. It also meant Eva could still share a bed with Billy when the mood struck.

  “Anything I need to do to get ready for our guest? When’s he coming?”

  “Not till tomorrow. Take steaks out of the freezer and put them in the icebox to thaw. Our boy needs protein. Gotta be sick of that namby-pamby hospital food. Why don’t you make chocolate mousse? The one you won’t tell me what’s in it because you think I’ll upchuck.”

  “It’s a deal,” I said. “You going to be home in time to go to Phil’s?”

  “Sure. Zack’s asleep. No reason to watch him snooze. I’ll be home in a jiffy, though I plan to have a word or three with the sheriff before I leave.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Eva estimated the drive to Phil’s would take under thirty minutes unless we got behind a slowpoke. Double-yellow no-passing paint striped the winding country road most of the way to Lake Sisel’s shoreline.

  With Eva strapped into my Prius’s passenger seat, I took advantage of her captive state to pry out a full report on what she’d learned at the hospital. At Zack’s insistence, the sheriff let Eva sit in while he interviewed the quarterback.

  “Did Zack offer any leads on who might have attacked him—other than Chester or one of his cronies?” I asked.

  “No. Claims he doesn’t know anyone who hates him enough to try to kill him, end his career, or harm his mom.”

  “What about the ‘adult exercise’ video? Did the sheriff quiz him about it?”

  Eva nodded. “He did. But Zack never opened the text or its companion video, so he’s never seen it. He was answering blind. If Zack had a role in it, he’s a good actor. He said for all he knew some fan sent it hoping he’d want to join the fun. He got pretty testy when the sheriff kept pushing. Told him to forget amateur porn and find his mom.”

  “So our new cabin-mate didn’t actually deny the possibility he’s in the movie. Did you get the feeling he played a starring role?”

  Eva tilted her head to the side. “At first Sheriff Mason gave no clue about the woman’s identity. After he said the lady in question was Sala Lemmon, he asked Zack flat out if he might be in the video. Zack took the fifth by zipping his lips. Possibly because it’s him. Then again Zack may be protecting someone else. Not my place to judge. I respect Zack for refusing to discuss it.”

  I tended to agree, though if Zack recorded the video, I hoped Sala had agreed to a recording. Otherwise it felt a lot like exploitation or even blackmail.

  “Did Mason give the phone back to Zack?” I asked.

  “He’s not handing it over to anyone yet. He’s following up on threatening texts from unhappy gamblers, including an email from an old schoolmate named Mick. Zack said it was just losers blowing off steam. He added that Mick had sent him more attaboy texts t
han threats.”

  “That Mick must be Mick Hardy,” I said. “I called the sheriff after he showed up at Udderly acting suspicious. Said he was looking for a business card he’d lost. Wouldn’t give me his name, but Paint and Andy pointed him out to me at the dog show. He’s been calling Paint fishing for information on Zack’s condition. Glad he’s on the sheriff’s radar.”

  I glanced at Eva. “You haven’t said a word about Fred or Chester and his CAVE cronies. Are they still kidnap suspects?”

  “Fred and Chester are in the clear.” Eva sighed. “Solid alibis. Fred was in Savannah visiting his sister and Chester was hiding out with kin a couple of counties over. The sheriff thinks Chester burned rubber getting out of Ardon after Zack humiliated him by putting him down with a single punch. Mason seems to view Chester as a grandstanding bully who talks big until someone calls his bluff—not enough guts to attack Zack, even a sneak attack from behind. I tend to agree. But I could still see one of his CAVE men buddies snatching Carol.”

  Our conversation paused while Eva consulted the Google map I’d printed for her. Though my aunt was serving as my navigator, she refused to follow electronic breadcrumbs on my iPhone. Said she detested the haughty sounds of robotic voices that kept telling you to make a U-turn when you knew darn well your shortcut worked better.

  “Take the next left,” she said. “Then a right at the entrance to Phil’s neighborhood. His house is a big red brick number at the top of the hill.”

  “We’re almost there,” I said. “Is that all you learned from the sheriff?”

  Eva chuckled. “Didn’t say that. Kate Lemmon arrived while the sheriff and I were in Zack’s room. She peeked through the glass and saw Zack awake and talking. She tried to barge in but the deputy on guard stopped her. The sheriff asked Zack if he wanted to see Kate. Zack’s ‘no’ was mighty emphatic. Claimed he didn’t feel up to talking with anyone but the sheriff and me. My opinion? The ‘not feeling up to it’ excuse was a bunch of hooey.”