When the Grits Hit the Fan

by Maddie Day

“Where’s O’Neill?”

  “He went out snowshoeing early to check his . . . fox traps. He’s not back yet.”

  Abe nodded encouragement.

  “If I give you the book, will you leave?” I asked.

  “Give it to me first,” Maude shouted.

  “You have to promise you won’t shoot me,” I shouted back. As if that kind of promise would mean anything.

  “Ha,” she scoffed. “I can do what I want. I’m the one with the gun, remember.”

  “Is that how you killed Charles?” I called out.

  “The bastard. He was going to tell my mother about her real daughter. I’d been taking his crap for years, but that put me over the top.”

  I stared wide eyed at Abe. I’d seen the resemblance between Jo and Zen. Charles must have, too.

  “So?” I called. “She wouldn’t have dropped you just because she found her birth daughter.”

  “Enough talking. I need the diary now,” she yelled. “Did you read it?”

  “Not yet. I was going to as soon as I did the dishes.” I rolled my eyes, not sure where all these lies were coming from.

  “Liar,” she called.

  Abe whispered. “I’m going to get the bow. I’ll head out the back door and try to pick her off. You should come with me.”

  “No. She’d get suspicious. I’ll keep her talking. But what about the ice?”

  “I can crawl on my elbows and knees. Military training. I hate to leave you in here alone.”

  “It’s okay.” Not really, but it needed to be okay. “Be careful.”

  Another shot slammed into the house, hitting the front door. I swore.

  As he coiled himself for his exit, I whispered, “Love you.” Because that’s what it felt like.

  “Yeah.” He flashed me a dimple and then scurried, back bent like a beetle, into the back porch.

  “You going to give it to me or do I have to come in there?” Maude called.

  “What’s in it, anyway? I used to keep a sweet sixteen diary. Was that yours?”

  She snorted audibly. “Right. It was a real sweet year.”

  I heard the back door click softly shut. A third window shattered from another shot. How many bullets did she have in that thing? Just our luck it would be one of those semi-automatic things with a zillion rounds in it that I read about with awful tragic regularity in the news.

  Please don’t let Abe be the next statistic. Or me. I sent my prayer out into the universe.

  “In my diary all I wrote about was boys, school, and girlfriends,” I called, trying to keep my tone light.

  “That’s pretty much what I wrote about, too.” She barked a cheerless laugh. “Jordan, I need the book and I need it now. I’m assuming you don’t have any weapons, but if you do, lay them on the ground and stand up in front of the window with your hands on your head. Now.”

  “No way. I’ll toss the book out. You can take it and leave.”

  “Sorry. Do what I tell you or you’re dead.”

  I didn’t even know if my legs would hold me. My throat thickened. I pushed up to my feet and quickly got my hands on my head. I spied her standing behind the open car door about fifteen yards away, her head above the roof. She must be perched on the running board or whatever they called it. Abe was right. It was a wicked-looking weapon and she was pointing it with both hands straight at me, her arms resting on the top of the door. Thank goodness a few trees were between us, but they weren’t big ones.

  Where was Abe? I tried to look without moving my head, but I couldn’t see him. I swallowed down my fear. “How can I give you the book with my hands on my head?” I asked.

  “Where is it?”

  “Right here next to me on this end table.” My voice shook. I swallowed hard. There was nothing to prevent her from killing me and snatching the book. Wait. Of course there was. The ice. She couldn’t get to the house. Unless she had cleats on her boots. But if she had cleats she’d already be in the house. And if she killed me and waited for the ice to melt to get the diary, she didn’t know when Abe would come back and find her.

  “Pick it up with your right hand.”

  “I’m left-handed.”

  “All right, already.” Maude cursed. “With your left. Open the door and throw it toward me as far as you can. Flat like a Frisbee.”

  She was out of luck there. I’d always been terrible with any sport involving eye-hand coordination. I still needed to stall for time so Abe could get in position and take aim. He’d have only one chance.

  “I have a terrible arm. There’s a shovel near the door. I’ll put the book on that and shove it across the ice to you.”

  “No. Throw it. I don’t want you touching that shovel.”

  “I’m picking the book up now,” I called, nearly screeching. I grabbed the book and moved into the vestibule as slowly as I could, trying to swallow down my fear.

  “Hurry up!”

  I swung open the door and stood there, relying on her being desperate to have the diary. My legs shook. I gulped in air. I readied the book, curling it toward me with a clammy hand. I got ready to dive back into the house as soon as I threw it. I didn’t have a shred of doubt that she’d kill me as soon as she held the diary.

  A branch cracked. A brushing noise whistled. It was followed by another and then by the crack of gunshot. But the shot wasn’t aimed at me.

  Maude disappeared. Abe cried out.

  “No!” I screamed.

  Chapter 60

  I waited. No more shots. “Abe!” I called.

  “Here, Robbie.” His voice was weak and came from the woods to the right of the driveway.

  Had Abe hit Maude? “Can you see Maude?” I called.

  He didn’t answer. Had she shot him? Maude didn’t speak, either. Was she feigning injury with her silence? Would she kill me if I went to him? I had to risk it.

  I looked around. Little holes from the salt dappled the front walk. I dropped the diary and took a couple of stomping steps, breaking through the ice. I crunched down the walk to the drive as fast as I could. Crossing in front of the VW, I stepped into the woods and looked all around, searching. I couldn’t see Abe, but at least there were no more shots.

  “Where are you?” My voice wobbled. “Abe, talk to me!”

  “Here.”

  I whipped my head to the sound and finally spied him behind the wide trunk of an old oak. I hurried to him, crunching through the icy crust and into the snow below. Still wearing the camouflage jacket, he was curled up behind the tree, clutching his thigh. The bow lay discarded a yard away. The snow around his leg was tinged with red.

  “She shot you! Let me see.” Kneeling next to him, I tore off my hat.

  When he took his hand away from his leg, blood oozed through a hole in his pants near his groin. I pressed my hat on it and leaned into it with both hands.

  “Where’d you learn to do that?” he asked with a faint smile. His face was as pale as linen.

  “Never mind. You must have gotten her. She stopped shooting.” How was I going to get medical help to him or get him to a hospital? Think, Jordan, think.

  “I blew it,” Abe said. “Stepped on a branch. She saw me and got off a shot. She missed, almost. I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t blow it. You’re alive, aren’t you?” I lifted my cap, dismayed to see new blood seeping out. I pressed again. “We have to get you out of here. Can you keep pressing on this? I’m going to run in and get something to bandage the wound. And a blanket.”

  “Okay.” His strength seemed to be ebbing fast.

  I swallowed away the despair threatening to close up my throat. I guided his hand to the wound, then ripped off the down vest I was wearing. I laid it over him and snugged it around his neck. “Please keep your eyes open. Sing to yourself or something.”

  I heard faint traces of “Staying Alive” as I dashed to the house. I tore a pillowcase off a bed pillow and found a pair of scissors to start the rip. The scissors slipped from my hand as it shook from
the cold. I dashed to the back hall and shrugged on a wool coat that smelled of wood smoke and Abe. Blinking back tears, I focused on making bandages as fast as I could. When I was holding a half dozen long pieces of cotton, I grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and headed for the door.

  “No. Phone,” I told myself and scrabbled in my bag until I found it.

  Abe’s eyes were closed and his hand had fallen away from the wound. “Abe. Sweetheart.” I knelt again and patted his cheeks. “Wake up, please.” The blood-soaked hat lay damp on the snow.

  His eyelids fluttered open. “Just tired.”

  “I know. Tell me the alphabet. Count backwards from a hundred. Anything.” I folded one strip of pillowcase a bunch of times and pressed that against his wound. At least the bleeding was ebbing.

  “Ichi. Ni. San. Shi. Go . . .”

  “Counting in Japanese? That’s good,” I said as I wrapped the leg tightly three or four times, tying off the final ends. “Keep going.”

  “Roku. Shichi. Hachi. Kyu . . . Jyu.”

  “Good. Now we’re going to have to walk to Maude’s car. I’m driving you to town, or at least to a cell signal.” I slid my arms under his armpits. “Come on now, sit up with me. Put your head on my shoulder. That’s it.” I managed to get him sitting. “Now brace yourself. I’m going to stand and pull you up. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he whispered.

  I let him go and got to my feet, then draped the blanket around his shoulders. Bracing my feet, bending my knees, I extended both hands to him. Thank goodness for biker’s thighs.

  “Up you go.” I almost fell over backwards, and I cringed at his cry of pain, but a second later he was up. I maneuvered myself next to him, slinging his arm over my shoulders, my arm around his waist. “Hop if you have to.”

  The SUV seemed impossibly far away. We were going to have to steer around trees. I marveled that Abe had figured out how to get an arrow into Maude without hitting any obstacles. Ice still coated every branch of the trees, no matter how tiny, and sun lit them up like a forest full of twinkling glass. How could it look so beautiful when we’d both nearly lost our lives? Maude apparently had lost hers or at least her ability to kill us. We’d see in a minute.

  Finally I could see the driver’s side of the SUV. Maude lay face down on the ground. Her feet remained hooked over the edge of the open doorway, and the thick weapon had slid beyond reach of her fingers. She had to be dead.

  The car was still running. The quiet clean air smelled of exhaust. Like it had when the police snowmobiles had arrived at Charles’s death.

  Abe made a sound deep in his throat when he saw Maude. He swayed.

  “Come on,” I urged. “We’re almost there. And she’s beyond help.” At least that’s what it looked like. I moved him past Maude and opened the back door of the SUV. How was I going to get him in? “Can you grab the top of the doorway?”

  He nodded. It looked like it took the last speck of his strength. He stepped up with his good leg and swung himself in, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. He collapsed in a near fetal position on the wide seat. I covered him with the blanket and closed the door.

  I turned toward Maude. Reaching down, I touched her neck. No pulse. “I’m sorry, Maude. I’m sorry your life was so horrible you felt you needed to kill people. But right now I’m taking your car.” I unhooked her feet and slid her legs aside so I wouldn’t run over them backing out. I climbed into the driver’s seat and moved it forward so I could reach the pedals. Before I closed the door, I heard the insistent knocking of a Pileated woodpecker echoing through the trees, setting the tempo, telling me to hurry.

  Chapter 61

  Because of the ice, I drove slowly on the access road. The last thing we needed was to end up in a ditch or a snowbank. Right before I arrived at Route 46, I pulled over and checked my phone. Yes, bars! I jabbed 911. When a dispatcher answered, I ever so briefly outlined what had happened and where we were.

  “Do you feel you are still in danger, ma’am?” she asked.

  “Not from our attacker, but Abe O’Neill needs urgent medical care. Please tell them to hurry.” My words ended in a sob. I had to stay strong for Abe. “Should I keep driving or stay here where they can find me?”

  “Please stay where you are. Help is on the way. Is the victim breathing?”

  “Just a sec.” I left the car in PARK but kept it running with the heat on its highest setting and climbed into the back with Abe. His chest rose and fell regularly, and under the blanket my makeshift bandage was still holding despite blood seeping through it. He was barely with me but opened his eyes, then they drifted closed and stayed there.

  “Yes, he’s breathing but kind of going in and out of consciousness, I think.”

  “Keep the call open, ma’am. Alert me to any change in his status,” she instructed.

  “Okay.” I snugged the blanket around him and waited, my hand stroking his shoulder. Tears burned my eyes and threatened to close my throat. I shook them off. I had to stay present and not wallow in worry.

  An ambulance pulled up several minutes later, followed by Buck and Octavia in separate cars. I jumped out and pointed to the backseat. “He’s in there. Hurry.”

  I watched as the paramedics tended to Abe, finally strapping him to a wheeled gurney. “One second, guys.” I leaned down and kissed Abe’s forehead. “You’re going to make it. I’ll see you there.”

  “Love you,” he whispered.

  “Yeah.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes as the guys slid him into the back of the ambulance. The doors closed and the vehicle rolled away, lights flashing and siren screaming. I leaned my back against the SUV, closing my eyes. If the ground hadn’t been frozen I would have slid to sitting and stayed there for a long, long time.

  Someone cleared their throat next to me. I reluctantly opened my eyes to see Octavia standing in front of me with folded arms. “Who shot O’Neill?”

  I swallowed. “Give me one minute, okay? I have to tell Danna why I’m not at work.”

  When she nodded, I texted Danna. Really sorry. Trapped by ice, then Abe shot in leg. Hope to follow him to hosp. I didn’t add, After the cops get through with me.

  Seconds later she responded.

  No! You OK? No probs here. Phil helping. But store window broken overnight.

  I wrote back. I’m fine. Talk later.

  Maude must have broken the window and gotten in that way.

  I slid the phone into my pocket and straightened my shoulders. “All right,” I told Octavia.

  I’d told dispatch there was a shooting and Charles Stilton’s murderer was dead, but nothing more. “Maude Stilton tried to kill us both. Abe got her with an arrow.”

  “Is she alive?” Octavia’s eyebrows went up and stayed there.

  I shook my head.

  “We need you to show us the victim and the cabin, Robbie. And you shouldn’t be driving this vehicle.”

  I glared at her. “I had to! Maude blocked Abe’s van. She was trying to kill us. Did you want him to die out there in the woods? There was no cell reception, no landline.”

  “Sorry. Not blaming you for anything. Just come with me, all right?” She pointed to her vehicle.

  Buck ambled up. “Want she should ride with me?”

  “Can I?” I asked.

  “No. But please follow us, Buck, so you can give her a ride back.” Octavia ushered me into the front seat of her car, a small SUV that looked plain until I noticed the police-type dashboard and the light on top of it.

  “Turn around and go back down this road,” I said. “It’s still icy, though.”

  “Already in four-wheel drive. Please tell me what all transpired.”

  “I’d spent the night with Abe O’Neill at his family’s cabin.” Despite the heat blasting through the vents, my teeth chattered. “We couldn’t get out this morning because of the ice. Maude Stilton showed up—”

  “How did she know where to find you?”

  I thought for a minute. “Yesterday
in the restaurant I mentioned to Danna where I was going. Maude was there and overhead me. She probably knew the O’Neill family. Or Googled their vacation house. I really don’t know.”

  “Please go on.”

  “Maude showed up this morning and started shooting at the house.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Right before I left with Abe yesterday I found a diary in an upstairs wall of my building. It was Maude’s from when she was a teenager. Abe and I read it last night. And get this. In the diary, she confessed to killing a classmate. Exactly the same way she killed Charles.”

  “In an ice fishing hole.”

  “Exactly.” I stared at Octavia. “In the diary, it sounds like she suffocated the girl. How did Charles die? Buck told me there wasn’t any water in his lungs so he was dead before he went in.”

  Octavia rolled her eyes a little. “He knows not to share that level of detail. That said, you deserve to know. It doesn’t matter now. We found Rohypnol in his blood.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a sedative like Valium, but it’s sold on the street. One of the so-called date rape drugs. Made in Mexico. They call it roofie or roach. Maude could have given it to him in a drink then walked him out onto the ice. He would have been too sedated to resist suffocation. Maude was enough bigger than him to pull it off.”

  “Drugged.” I turned to stare at her. “Maude said something the other day about how Georgia could have drugged Charles and shoved him into the hole. I didn’t notice, but now that I think of it, there certainly hadn’t been mention of drugs in the news about his death.”

  “Absolutely none. Too bad you didn’t think to tell me.”

  I opened my mouth to object, but Octavia held up her hand. “Please. I’m not blaming you, Robbie.”

  I stared out the front window. “I wonder if Maude could have given her teenage victim a similar drug in the eighties.” In the hot chocolate she gave Lovey.

  “Certainly possible. Many of the sedatives were developed in the sixties.”

  “Maude had to be my passageway intruder,” I said. “She must have been desperate to get the diary back. She grew up in the house so she obviously knew about the tunnel.”