by Maggie Pill
That was when Honny pulled a second gun from the hood of his shirt and fired at her.
Things happened fast after that. Honny rolled under the car, firing a shot at Barrett as he went. Both officers crouched to make themselves smaller targets and scurried to protected spots. Barrett took cover behind Barbara’s Chevy while Weisnewski, apparently unhurt, leapt onto a bench at the vineyard edge, using the back as a shield.
An eerie silence settled on the parking lot.
A voice behind me made me jump. “What’s going on out there? Is that the guy they’re hunting for?”
I turned to find the desk clerk’s face inches from mine. “The police are trying to arrest him,” I told her. “So far it isn’t going well.”
“What should we do?”
“They said to stay inside and let them handle it.” Even as I said the words, I was examining the situation. The two officers were pinned down. They’d probably called for assistance, but it would take a while for it to arrive. Looking to where Honny had been a moment before, I didn’t see him. He’d rolled out the other side of my vehicle, and I guessed he was standing where one tire or the other hid his feet. It was impossible to tell if he’d come out at the front, where he’d be in position to shoot Barrett, or in the rear, where Weisnewski would be in his sights.
Whichever way he chose, one of the officers was a sitting duck. Once he’d wounded or killed one of them, he could pin the other down while he retreated into the woods and escaped again.
Unless I did something.
On second thought I corrected that. Unless we did something.
I turned to the clerk. “What’s your name?”
“Bonnie.”
“Bonnie, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re each going to take one of those wine casks on the porch and roll it toward the parking lot.”
“What?”
I repeated the plan—if you could call it that—adding, “It’s a distraction. The deputies can arrest him while he’s dodging barrels.”
“But he has a gun!”
“He’s behind the car, so he can’t see us. Take the one on the right.”
“And do what again?”
“Turn it on its side and roll it downhill. Try to hit the car, or at least get close.” She frowned and I explained, “Any impact should be enough to distract him.” She still looked doubtful, so I added, “We have to give the deputies a chance, right?”
After a sigh big enough for a silent movie actress, she nodded.
“Let’s go. As soon as you push your barrel, lie flat on the ground and stay there, okay?”
She gulped. “Okay.”
We exited the door, taking our respective positions. It was harder than I thought to tip the oaken cask over, and I realized they’d been filled with dirt to keep them in place. I heard Bonnie grunt as she wrestled hers over and got behind it, twisting the barrel a little to aim it where she wanted it to go. That was a vain hope. We had no control over where they ended up, but any distraction was better than none.
When I got my cask on its side I crouched behind it and counted. “One, two, three!”
We pushed hard, and the casks started a slow roll down the lawn. Bonnie and I dropped to our stomachs, peeping up to watch where they went. For a few seconds I feared they wouldn’t even make it to the parking lot, much less to my car, but the slope was on our side. As the barrels rolled they picked up speed, and when they hit the walkway, there were two loud thumps. They sped up even more.
Of course they didn’t go where we’d intended. Adhering to laws of science I never bothered to try to understand, the cask on the right continued more or less on a straight line, but mine took a wide turn, heading almost at right angles to my car. Still, they made a satisfying rumble as they traveled, and soon Honny leaned out to see what was coming at him.
Bonnie’s cask was almost upon him. He turned to avoid it, but it caught him a glancing blow on the shoulder as it bounced by and continued downhill. I heard a curse word, and Honny retreated from sight, but the distraction allowed Barrett to move into position behind Barbara’s car. When he ordered Honny to drop the second gun, I thought this time it would take.
Beside me Bonnie grinned in elation. “We did it!”
“We did.” Her smile turned to a frown. “I hope the boss isn’t mad. Those kegs are genuine antiques.”
“That’s okay,” I told her. “Saving lives beats antiques any day. You just became a hero.”
Chapter Fifty-one
Barb
“May I come in?” In the doorway of my hospital room stood Angel, the leader of Love-Able Ladies. What was she doing here?
“Please.”
She was as carefully dressed, coiffed, and decorated as before, but she seemed less sure of herself. “I wanted to tell you we’re all praying for your complete recovery.”
Obviously, she’d heard I was a lawyer.
“Nothing that happened at the retreat will be held against you or your organization.”
A little line appeared between her brows. “Retta tells me you’ll make a full recovery.”
I flexed the fingers of my bandaged arm. “No permanent damage; no psychological trauma. As I said, there will be no legal action taken against your group.”
She shook her head, as if this wasn’t going the way she’d expected. “Ms. Evans, I didn’t come here to avoid a lawsuit. I came because you went through a horrible experience. Your sisters were kidnapped. You were shot.” She frowned. “That surely wasn’t fun.”
“Well, no.”
“We’re very grateful you took on those people and exposed their crimes.”
“I suppose we did all right—for a bunch of girls.”
Angel licked her lips. “I’m told you are a lifelong advocate for women’s rights.”
Thanks, Retta. “I disagree with women being encouraged to be content with limited, subservient roles.”
“But what if those roles are more important to us than anything we could do somewhere else?” She leaned toward me earnestly. “What if rather than being the first female President, I’d like to raise a son who’s the kind of man who’s perfect for the job?”
“What if your daughter would make a great President? Do you tell her she can’t because she’s female?”
Her eyes clouded momentarily. “I would never tell a child of mine she can’t do anything she puts her mind to.” She smiled almost apologetically. “Women can have influence through the homes we provide and the values we teach.”
“So the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world?” I shook my head then remembered that hurt. “I’d rather man up, wear the pants, and get things done.”
“But if a woman chooses to rock the cradle instead of trying to rock the world, should she be disparaged for it?”
“Well, no.”
“Then we agree. Women can be what they choose. Our little group doesn’t hate anyone, and we don’t try to convince women to quit their jobs or give up fighting for what they want. Love-Able Ladies just tries to help one kind of woman feel comfortable with being feminine.”
“I know you people aren’t evil,” I admitted. Angel believed in what she was doing, and I believed the opposite. Who was correct? “It’s true we talk past each other too often, whether it’s women’s roles, race, or politics.”
She nodded. “If we really listened, we might see we’re not so far apart.”
“As long as you don’t tell little girls they can’t be doctors or lawyers.”
“Of course they can, but they should also be able to stay home and raise their children without being made to feel like failures.”
I thought of the Evans sisters. Though Retta was at heart a Love-Able Lady type, she sat on a half-dozen boards, contributed to the work of several local charities, and served her state and community in a dozen different ways. Faye was neither for feminism nor against it. She’d spent her life being whatever she needed to be, Mom to her own three sons and a host of others as well, despite wo
rking full time her whole life and dealing with issues that might have crushed a weaker person. I’d chosen the career-woman path, and while I regretted nothing, I knew my lone-wolf lifestyle wasn’t for everyone.
“I understand what you’re saying,” I told Angel. Swallowing my pride I added, “I had no right to disrupt your event.”
“It’s good of you to say so.” A mischievous glint came into her eye. “But just so you know, I won’t be adding your name to the Love-Able Ladies’ mailing list.”
“No,” I replied in a similar tone. “I’m not sure how lovable I am, but I’m quite sure I’ll never be known as a sweet, old-fashioned girl.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Maggie Pill is also Peg Herring, but Maggie’s much younger and cooler.
Visit http://maggiepill.maggiepillmysteries.com and Peg’s site http://pegherring.com for more great mysteries.
Have you read Book #1, The Sleuth Sisters, yet?
Learn how the sisters started their detective agency, found a long-lost murder suspect, and almost went from three sisters to two.
How about Book #2, 3 Sleuths, 2 Dogs, 1 Murder?
When Retta’s “gentleman friend” is arrested for murder, the sisters must brave a winter wilderness, far removed from any chance of rescue. Three determined women, with help from two dogs and a pair of horses, can do anything. Sister Power!
Book #3, Murder in the Boonies
Renters on the family farm disappear without a trace, and the sisters are left to solve the mystery, deal with a menagerie, and stop a plot that would spell disaster for Michigan’s famous Mackinac Island.
Book #4, Sleuthing at Sweet Springs
Visiting a nursing home, Faye meets a woman who claims she doesn’t belong there. Trying to help leads the sisters into big trouble, and—who’d have guessed—a flock of helpful chickens!
Books available from Amazon (print, e-book, & audiobook) and Ingram (print only).
For other books with “Strong Women, Great Stories,”
go to Peg’s Amazon Page: https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=peg+herring
The Simon & Elizabeth Mysteries (Tudor Era Historical)
Her Highness’ First Murder
Poison, Your Grace
The Lady Flirts with Death
Her Majesty’s Mischief
***
The Loser Mysteries (Contemporary Mystery/Suspense)
Killing Silence
Killing Memories
Killing Despair
***
Clan Macbeth Historical Romance (medieval Scotland)
Macbeth’s Niece
Double Toil & Trouble
***
Standalone Mysteries
Somebody Doesn’t Like Sarah Leigh (contemporary cozy mystery)
Her Ex-GI P.I. (‘60s-era mystery)
A Lethal Time and Place (‘60s-era paranormal mystery)
Shakespeare’s Blood (thriller)
Suspense with Cozy Tendencies
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