PICKED OFF

by Linda Lovely

  Her eyelids flickered and her body sagged. I held onto her arms to keep her from slinking to the floor. Andy rushed over and helped ease Carol into a chair.

  Her head dropped and her hands flew up. Her fingers kneaded her temples. “I remember going to the hospital parking lot. Then it’s all jumbled. A cold, damp cloth clamped over my mouth. An acrid smell. Loud voices. A scream. I don’t know what’s real, what’s hallucination.”

  She laughed. Hysterics? The sound wasn’t pleasant. “I saw my own body floating outside my Caddy. I tried to start the car and nothing happened. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I have to see Zack.”

  She focused on Mason and whispered, “Please.”

  Andy knelt beside Carol’s chair and patted her arm. He looked up at the sheriff. “She needs to be in the hospital. I think she’s in shock. She may be drugged. You can’t keep her here.”

  The sheriff folded his arms across his chest. “Ambulance will be here any second to take her to the hospital. I’d hoped seeing friends might snap Mrs. Strong out of her state—whatever it is.”

  Might good news do the trick?

  “Carol. Zack woke from his coma. He’s going to be just fine. He’s leaving the hospital tomorrow.”

  “Zack…” Carol murmured and her eyelids fluttered. She fainted just as two paramedics rushed in.

  “Can we go to the hospital with her?” I asked as they lifted her onto a rolling stretcher.

  The sheriff shook his head. “No. We’re not finished.”

  The door to the interview room closed, leaving Andy, Mollye, and me alone with the sheriff.

  Mason cleared his throat. “I heard back from the unit we sent to that hunting camp Chester frequents. Place was empty. No dog, no shooter, no corpse. No drone either. You sure you’re not hallucinating?”

  I looked at Andy, then Mollye. What the Feta?

  “We all saw the same things, Sheriff,” Andy said. “I kinda doubt we’re victims of some mass hypnosis scheme. We saw what we saw. When you find my backpack, you can check the recording from the drone. It’ll prove we’re not hallucinating. Surely your men found blood? Signs of a struggle?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “You were out in that monsoon. What do you think? Water had pooled six inches deep around that privy. If there ever was evidence of a body or struggle, the water washed it away.”

  The sheriff looked down at his hands. “Want to know how we located Mrs. Strong?”

  We nodded in unison.

  “A Good Samaritan spotted her wandering beside the highway turnoff to that hunting camp. She was soaked, incoherent. He bundled her into his car. She kept pleading to be taken to her son. He asked her name…if she was lost. She didn’t answer.

  “The driver was from out-of-state, had no idea the woman was a missing politician. She was acting so strangely he suspected she’d wandered away from a psych ward. Didn’t know what else to do with her so he brought her here.”

  “What an ordeal,” I said. “She was kidnapped. They must have drugged her.”

  “Maybe,” Mason answered. “Then again maybe she’s playacting. Could be she’s the one who shot at you. I’ve heard her tell voters she owns a gun and is a better-than-decent shot. Is that true or just campaign rhetoric?”

  “What?” Andy practically shouted. “Carol wasn’t shooting at anyone. She’s a victim. Chester kidnapped her.”

  The sheriff rocked back on his heels. “Nope. Already told you folks he couldn’t have. We confirmed Chester’s alibi. He was out of town Sunday afternoon when Carol disappeared.”

  “Doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Mick,” Mollye sputtered.

  Mason treated us to his best Arctic stare. “If Mick is actually dead, maybe Mrs. Strong killed him. I have to consider all the possibilities.”

  “You can’t really think Carol plunged that knife into Mick?” Mollye threw up her hands. “Then what? She picked up his dead body and hid it before chasing us. Oh, yeah, and with Chester’s dog leading the way. And when she was done with all that she sprinted to the road to scam some passerby in the rain?”

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “I have no preconceived notion of what happened. Maybe Mrs. Strong did knife this Mick fellow and run. Maybe Chester or one of his buddies came back and removed a dead body. Or maybe you saw someone passed out behind the privy, someone who wasn’t really dead and the rain sobered him up. Maybe your corpse got up and walked off.

  “Tell me what you think you saw one more time. It’s too dark and dangerous for my men to search that hiking trail tonight. Come morning I’ll send deputies to recover that backpack you say you dropped. They’ll look for any signs of a shooter—man or woman.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  After Sheriff Mason decided he’d squeezed all the information he could from us, we headed for the hospital. I tried to phone Aunt Eva but got no answer. Probably switched off. Not a shocker.

  As Andy pulled into the hospital parking lot, I saw a man, shoulders hunched, puffing on a cigarette in a shadowed enclave at the corner of the building. Though the entire medical campus was declared nicotine-free, it was next to impossible to enforce outdoors—not with frantic people, worried about loved ones, craving a hit.

  The man ground his cigarette butt under his heel. Then he cupped his hand around a lighter to fire up another one. The flickering flame lit his face like a spotlight.

  “It’s Fred Baxter.” I nodded toward the man. “What’s he doing here? Holding a get-unwell vigil for Zack?”

  “If all was right with the world, he’d be waiting to drive his honey Allie home after a forked tongue extraction,” Mollye said.

  “Forget Fred,” Andy said. “It’s okay with me if he wants to barbecue his lungs as long as he’s not bothering Zack.”

  Inside, a friendly nurse directed us to Zack’s new room outside the ICU.

  “Think he’s been reunited with his mom yet?” Mollye asked as the elevator doors opened. Down the hall, a dozen-body scrum blocked the entrance to Zack’s room. As we got closer, I recognized two sour pusses. Allie and Kate. Fred must be waiting to chauffeur Allie to the next place she planned to infect with hate. Clearly the sheriff’s deputy was controlling access, and all members of the hall mob had been turned away. Andy elbowed through the crowd and tapped on the small window set in the closed door.

  “Hey, Paint. Tell the deputy we know the secret handshake,” he said, trying to get his best friend’s attention within the inner sanctum.

  Paint opened the door. “Not sure about the three of you.” He looked us up and down and grinned. “Maybe we should require showers before letting you inside.”

  “Showers?” Mollye sputtered. “I’m wetter than a mud wrestler who lasted nine rounds.”

  Paint laughed. “Yeah, that’s exactly how you look.”

  The guard on duty outside the door looked to Paint for a go-, no-go signal. Paint nodded approval. Apparently he’d been granted the keys to Zack’s fiefdom.

  Allie screeched an objection as the deputy gave his wave-through pass. “If he’s well enough to entertain this riffraff, he’s well enough to answer serious allegations,” she blustered. “Why has his mother gone into hiding?” She jockeyed to see into the room. “What’s she done?”

  Kate’s head bobbled up and down in approval, but the other media types just looked bored.

  “For heaven’s sake, they’re letting in Hookers!” Allie exclaimed in a last-ditch effort to rally out-of-town media colleagues.

  Now that outburst did snap folks to attention. A candy-striper delivering a bouquet next door, fumbled the vase she was carrying. It crashed to the floor. She didn’t even look down at the mess. Too focused on our little drama.

  “What did you say?” asked a round-eyed reporter for a Greenville paper.

  Mollye’s laughter pretty well drowned out any other hallway chatter. She waved gaily
to the throng. “I’m only an honorary Hooker.” She pointed at me. “But she’s the real deal.”

  We ducked inside the private room, and Paint closed the door, shutting out the rabble. Hallway outsiders could still peer through glass windows to see a portion of the room. It felt like a fishbowl.

  Zack looked the picture of health. Well, except for the bulging dressings on his head, shoulder, and foot. He lounged on top of the covers wearing silk pajamas in a deep blue that matched his eyes. The left leg of his PJs had been cut off to make room for the bulky soft cast on his broken ankle.

  Zack was chuckling over a shared joke with, holy moly, Doug Hayes. I’d forgotten Eva had mentioned the former star quarterback had scored a travel pass to visit his injured buddy. The guys sure were chummy considering he’d soon replace Zack on the field.

  Though hard to imagine, Hayes edged out Zack in the handsome department. Yowzer. Bronzed skin. Thick fair hair with a little curl at the nape of his neck. A smile so perfect I wondered if he had implants. The intense hazel eyes, a kaleidoscope of green, brown and gold flecks, were the capper. I wasn’t much for men who sported a lot of bling, but I forgave him the honking big diamond stud in his left earlobe. Probably part of his fans’ style expectations.

  Doug stopped laughing and focused his hazel eyes on me. It took a moment for me to pry my gaze away and check out the room’s other well-wishers.

  Doug and Eva had won the two coveted chairs on opposite sides of Zack’s bed. Linda, Carol’s campaign manager, leaned against a windowsill. That left foot-of-the-bed, standing-room for Paint, Andy, Mollye and me to squeeze into the tiny space.

  “Where have you been?” my aunt scolded. “You look wet enough to grow mold. Have you heard the good news? Carol’s back.”

  “We know,” Mollye interrupted. “Is she still loopy?”

  “What do you mean still?” Zack picked up on the implication. “Have you seen Mom?”

  I nodded. “We were at the Sheriff’s when they brought Carol in.” I glanced at Zack. “She kept begging to be taken to you. Andy thought she might be in shock.”

  “Your mom seemed to be suffering from amnesia. She couldn’t quite sort out what happened to her,” Andy added. “Seemed confused about what was real and what might have been hallucination. I think she was drugged.”

  Zack gripped the rail on the left side of his hospital bed to lever himself upright. He grimaced despite his attempt to favor his damaged shoulder as he moved.

  “A doctor let me know Mom was here and seemed in decent health despite exhaustion and short-term memory loss,” he said. “The doc promised I could see her as soon as they finished a few tests. He didn’t say anything about her being drugged.”

  “Of course she was drugged.” Aunt Eva huffed. “It’s not like she’s some drunk who suffers blackout spells. Let’s pray her amnesia is short-term and she can identify the bastards who kidnapped her.”

  Zack slunk back against the pillows in his cranked-up bed. “At least she’s safe, but I’ll feel a lot better when I can see her with my own eyes.”

  Aunt Eva frowned as she returned her attention to Andy, Mollye, and me. “What were you three doing at the Sheriff’s Office when they brought Carol in?”

  My aunt’s pursed lips told me she’d dog us with questions until we spilled the beans. I decided to speak up. With so many ears in the room, I elected to give a sanitized version of our hike, only mentioning the drone’s death by bullet, and my 911 call to report gunfire. I omitted any mention of Mick, being chased by a mutt who could win a Stephen King character contest, and the shooter’s attempt to put holes in our running rumps.

  I felt certain the sheriff would prefer to be the one to break any news of Mick’s demise—that is, if his body was ever found, or if Mason recovered Andy’s backpack and an aerial recording that proved we hadn’t dreamed the whole escapade.

  Eva shook her head. “Glad you just got a soaking and no bullet holes. It’s a wonder whoever shot down your drone didn’t shoot at you.”

  “Oh, we were a long way away,” Andy said.

  Thanks, Andy. Nice deflection.

  “So what happened at the Sheriff’s?” Paint asked. “Did Carol drive there?”

  “Hardly,” Mollye said. “Some motorist found her wandering beside a road. Carol woke in her car. When it wouldn’t start, she got out and walked. It was pouring, and she got drenched. Plenty reason to be dazed.”

  I watched Zack’s eyebrows knot and decided we shouldn’t add to his worries. “She just kept pleading to see you. I’m sure Carol will be fine once you two are reunited and she gets some rest.”

  I hoped it wouldn’t take Carol long to sort through the jumble in her brain. I had the feeling Mason would be keen to hear her explain how she wound up in a parked car near a remote murder scene.

  Linda straightened from her perch near the windowsill. “I need to run. I’ll try to dodge the reporters. I’m certainly not going to answer any questions about Carol. Even a hint that she’s suffering some sort of mental lapse could end her run for governor. The Ardon Chronicle would label it mental illness and ride it into the ground. Allie’s waiting for just that kind of tidbit.”

  A stern-faced doctor walked in and scanned the assemblage. “You all need to leave. Mr. Strong needs rest.”

  “How’s Mom?” Zack asked.

  The doctor shook his head. “I can only discuss her condition with immediate family. Again, all of you must leave. Security is clearing the hall. This is a hospital, not a bar lounge.”

  “I’m real sorry we’ve created such a nightmare for the hospital.” Zack smiled at the doctor. “But can my friend Doug stay a couple more minutes? We need a word in private.”

  The doctor studied the two football teammates for a beat or two before he committed. “Fine. Five minutes.”

  He then shooed the rest of us toward the door.

  “I’ll phone you, Eva,” Zack called. “Still want you to spring me in the morning.”

  He glanced at the doctor, then back at Eva. “Maybe you’ll get a two-fer. Have you got room for Mom and me?”

  “Of course,” Eva answered. “Love to have both of you.”

  I agreed, though I wondered if I’d be sleeping in the barn. Then I shivered, remembering the barn’s crime-scene tape had just been ripped down. Plus it was getting danged cold outside.

  I glanced over my shoulder for a parting look at Zack and his handsome teammate. Why was Zack so keen to speak with Doug in private? Football or another type of athletic endeavor?

  Though the rain had subsided, the bruised color of the clouds looked threatening. Once we reached the parking lot, Linda peeled off to find her car. The rest of us stood in a tight, unmoving knot as if we’d agreed by mental telepathy.

  “All of you want to meet at Udderly?” Eva asked. “I’m sure our chef here can figure out how to divide her tofu and loaves to make sure no one goes hungry.”

  “Sounds great,” Paint said. “I’ll give you a ride, Brie. Andy had the pleasure of your company this afternoon. It’s my turn.”

  Mollye chuckled. “Andy’s been keeping me company, too,” she teased. “Want to give me a ride?” She waved her hand. “Just kidding. Andy, do you mind dropping me back at Publix? I’ll start to molt soon if I don’t get out of these wet duds.”

  “No problem,” Andy said.

  Paint tucked my arm in his as we walked to his truck. “Hope you’ll call me for your next spy mission,” he said. “I’ll buy a drone if that’s what it takes.”

  I smiled. “I’m hoping that’s my last drone adventure. You’re lucky you missed this one. Andy had to hoist me over a huge log and we fell in a heap. Not pretty.”

  Paint pulled me closer. “I’m into heaps if you’re involved.”

  He winked at me, and I responded with my usual eye roll. Paint was such a congenital flirt I never knew how se
rious he was.

  As I climbed into his truck, I glanced over at the shadowy building niche where I’d seen Fred Baxter chain smoking. Empty. He was gone. Were he and Allie together? Not sure which was worse, picturing them plotting or under the covers. Under the covers. Definitely under the covers was worse.

  TWENTY-NINE

  As we drove toward Udderly, I thought about the vultures outside Zack’s room.

  “What do you think Kate Lemmon wants from Zack?” I asked. “Why is she so eager to talk to him?”

  Paint shook his head. “Don’t have a clue. But I bet Doug does.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Early this afternoon I visited the hospital cafeteria,” he began. “Kate and Doug were huddled in a corner. Their faces close enough to engage in eyelash combat. Soon as they saw me they sprang apart like teens caught necking in the backseat of a Chevy.”

  “Huh. Doug and Zack seem buddy-buddy, but Zack’s made it plain he dislikes Kate,” I said. “Doug must not share his opinion.”

  Paint grinned. “How curious are you? I know you’re into drones and being chased by Cujo, but my spy craft involves a toasty seat by the fire and a drink. You said Kate’s staying at the Maison d’Orange, right? I keep its bar and little souvenir area stocked with moonshine. We can drop by for a nightcap. The owner loves to gossip.”

  The idea had definite appeal. If I could stay awake that long.

  “Maybe,” I answered. “Let’s see how the evening goes.”

  Fortunately, the vegan split pea soup started in the crockpot that morning looked like enough to feed the crowd when paired with bread and, for most, cheese. Some days I felt like I was running a B&D. That’s a bed and dinner establishment.

  Mollye set the table while I put the finishing touches on dinner. Meanwhile, Andy and Paint gave Eva a hand, feeding Lilly’s mule, Rita, and Eva’s horse, Hank. The equines had been a bit skittish ever since their temporary eviction from the barn during crime scene processing. Eva made sure all the other animals were squared away with food and clean water.