by Tamar Myers
I had no idea where I was going, but I have enough common sense to know that I should head downhill. So when I stumbled into a little gully, I followed it. In my part of the Carolinas all valleys eventually lead to the Atlantic Ocean. This one might not lead to my car, but if I followed it long enough I might well end up at Myrtle Beach. Long before then I was bound to hit a jillion towns, probably even Charlotte.
Clambering down a gully in what Daddy used to call a "gully-washer" is no picnic, but it was actually less of a chore then making my way through the woods. Pine needles can be treacherously slippery when wet, and smacking the ground was only slightly less painful that kissing a tree. Besides, there weren't any trees growing in the gully to obstruct my progress. Sure, there were more exposed rocks to contend with, and I did slip a number of times, but all and all it was much faster going.
I am guessing that I had covered about a quarter of a mile when the rain stopped. One minute I couldn't even hear my own gasps, and the next minute the tree frogs were singing. A few minutes later the moon popped into place overhead.
So abrupt was the transformation that I sat down in the gully, muddy water swirling all about me, and cried. At least I think I cried. It's hard to tell if you're really crying when you are all wet. At any rate, I felt my face go through the motions, and despite efforts to the contrary, one very loud sob managed to escape me. Almost immediately I heard someone or something moving in the woods off to my right.
Since the obvious possibilities were Anita or a black bear, neither of which I wanted to encounter, I forced myself up and on my way. It was, of course, much easier to traverse the gully in the light, but more frightening as well. Now that I could see the slippery rocks, and the mud banks about to cave in, my progress was slower. I had taken only a few tentative steps when I heard a loud crack, not far off to my right. Coward that I am, I sat back down in the water with a plop.
There was another loud crack, this one even closer.
"So kill me already," I screamed, and cupped my face in my hands.
"Abigail!"
The voice was not Anita's, and I was reasonably sure it wasn't a bear. I peeked through my fingers.
"Roy?"
A million tons of water can alter one's appearance, you know. Handsome Roy, with the thick head of hair, looked more like a drowned muskrat on a beanpole than the man whose pickup I'd nearly scraped.
Roy grabbed me and gave me hard hug, but I wiggled loose. "You're not with her, are you?"
"Me? In cahoots with Anita?"
I stepped back and pried a muddy rock loose from the side of the gully. "Well?"
"Of course not!"
"Then what are you doing here?"
"I followed you."
I discarded the first rock and palmed one with a sharp edge. "What do you mean, you followed me?"
"I've been following you ever since you left the restaurant. I stayed about a quarter of a mile behind till you hit the dirt road. Then I had to lag even further back so as not to raise dust. When you stopped in the middle of the road like that, I had to stop, too. That's when I got out and started walking along the edge of the woods. When I saw her take you into the forest, I tried to head y'all off at an angle, but it was damned dark and I couldn't see where the hell I was going."
"And then it poured."
"Yeah, a real frog-strangler."
I'd known Anita for years, and although I'd always thought of her as a religious fanatic, I'd never thought of her as crazy. Roy, on the other hand, I'd only known a couple of hours. For all I knew, he was one of Anita's sons whom I'd never met or an escaped rapist from the state pen.
"What made you follow me?"
"I had a gut feeling something was wrong, and I guess I was right. I didn't like that woman from the start."
I dropped the rock. "What tipped you off?"
"Well, it wasn't hard to see that the woman was a wacko. When you got up to use the phone she nearly busted an eardrum trying to hear you. I started to talk to her and she about snapped my head off. Yelled at me for interrupting the Lord's work."
"Apparently killing me was part of that work. She would have gotten the job done, too, if it hadn't been for the lightning. Speaking of which, she could be anywhere. And she's armed, you know."
"Yeah, I figured that. A woman like you wouldn't go off into the woods with the likes of her unless there was some kind of weapon involved. You know what kind of gun it is?"
"Does it make a difference?"
"It might, if we run into her and she starts shooting. Knowing if and when she has to reload could be a big help."
"All I know is that it was a hard gun. I didn't get a close look."
"How did you get away?"
"You didn't see the lightning?"
"I saw it."
"It nearly killed us. It might have killed her—I don't know. I didn't stick around to see."
"Then we best be going."
Without asking my permission, Roy scooped me up and started carrying me like a baby. I'm not complaining, mind you. At least he didn't hoist me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Still, it wasn't a very practical move on his part.
"Wouldn't it make more sense if I rode piggyback?" I whispered.
"Yeah. But I was planning on using you as a shield if I need to."
"That's not funny. Anyway, the woman would just as soon shoot you in the back."
At the risk of sounding like a wimp, I rode on his back all the way out of the forest. Believe me, with Roy's legs doing all the walking we saved a lot of time. My job was to keep an eye on the rear, which I did. And I don't mean just Roy's rear, either.
Unfortunately Roy was not the great white hunter he would have me believe. After about an hour and a half and two gullies later, we stumbled out onto the road. It wasn't the logging road, however, but a paved highway.
"Hell," Roy said. "I could have sworn I was headed right for the logging road and our cars."
"Turn left, then; it's got to be just down there. I think I see that old stump."
Roy ignored me and made a right turn.
"What you doing?"
"I know what I'm doing, Abigail. Just leave the directions up to me."
"Put me down!"
Unlike the stereotype of the average female, I am a darn good navigator, and I firmly believe most women are. In my case, I became an expert the first time Buford and I ever took a trip into unfamiliar territory. That man would sooner be castrated than consult a map, and he wouldn't stop to ask directions if his life depended on it. If I had a dollar for each wasted mile Buford drove while we were married, I could buy Imelda Marcos's shoe collection. At any rate, while we drove those endless miles in which Buford was lost, but wouldn't admit it, I knew exactly where we were at all times.
I may have had to put up with Buford's stupidity—if only to keep family peace—but I didn't have to put up with Roy's. As soon as my feet hit the pavement I started walking. In the right direction.
"Hey, what do think you're doing?" Roy kept up with me for a few steps but then fell back. "You don't know this area, Abigail. You're going to get lost!"
I kept walking. Unfortunately I had managed to lose one of my sandals during the ordeal in the woods. Although the pavement was a little rough, it was still easier to walk altogether barefoot rather than lopsided. Although I didn't have Imelda's resources, I cavalierly threw my remaining sandal away.
The rain had cooled things down considerably and it was pleasantly warm. My clothes were almost dry. Under better circumstances I could well have enjoyed a nighttime stroll down a deserted country road—preferably with a well-chosen companion, like Greg Washburn. But Roy would do in a pinch, and I had every confidence that he would be joining me in a few minutes. Just as soon as he realized his mistake.
I was very wrong. Not only did Roy not join me, but what I thought was the big stump marking the logging road turned out to be a clump of blackberry bushes draped in honeysuckle. However, much to my joy, further down
the road, I could see a light. It appeared to be stationary, perhaps the light from a house.
Adrenaline is a funny thing. One's body can produce great amounts of it under seemingly opposite circumstances. What had served me well in the pine forest and gully served equally well on the paved road. I flew like Mercury and was there without really having been conscious of the journey.
It was a house, all right. A very ordinary-looking house, but one guarded by a pack of snarling, snapping dogs. Again, thanks to my adrenal glands I sailed right past them. My bravado must have intimidated the dogs because almost immediately they lost interest and slunk off.
I leaped up the steps to the front porch in a single bound. Well, two at the most. Finding no doorbell, I pounded on the door. My internal clock told me that it was no later than ten, and probably much earlier. Besides, the light undoubtedly meant someone was still up. And even if they hadn't been before my arrival, the dogs had surely done their job.
Nevertheless, nobody answered.
The garage door was closed, but there was a car parked in the driveway that looked functional. I would have bet Aunt Marilyn's life savings that the owner was home. I pounded again until the windows rattled.
The door opened just a crack, and I could see a thin slice of pink. "Go away!" a woman said.
"Please, I need help. Do you have a telephone?"
"I said to go away. If you don't, I'll sic them dogs on you."
"Please, this is an emergency. There's been an accident, and I think somebody's dead." That was partly true, because Anita might well be dead, as far as I knew.
The door opened as far as the chain would permit. "There been a car wreck?"
"No ma'am—" door started to close.
"Yes, ma'am. Two cars. Bodies lying everywhere."
The door closed just long enough and far enough for the chain to come off. The woman, who was wearing a pink long-sleeved dress, looked surprisingly familiar, although I couldn't place her. A second woman, dressed in blue, darted out of view.
"You in the accident?" Even her voice sounded familiar.
With no shoes, and more scratches than a one-eared tomcat, it should have been obvious to her. I was forced to lie again.
"Yes, ma'am. May I use your phone?"
She stared out into the night. "I don't see no accident."
"It's down the road about a mile. People moaning and screaming like you wouldn't believe."
"You wait here," she said, and closed the door.
She took forever, and I was too antsy to stand there like a lawn jockey. I started pacing like a caged lioness. It was a small porch bounded by a wrought iron railing, which made my circles tight. I swear I had made a dozen circuits before I realized I could not only see into her garage, but what I was looking at was even more familiar than she was.
"Holy shit!"
A third burst of adrenaline got me off that porch, past the pack of dogs, and smack up against the garage window. It was my car, all right.
"Oh, miss," I heard her calling from the front door.
"That's her, all right!" Anita screamed.
I can't say whether or not the garage door was unlocked, the lock was broken, or I managed to break it. All I know is that I had that sucker open in less time than it took Buford to roll off me and light up a cigarette. Maybe Anita didn't keep a spare key hidden on her car, but I sure as hell did. Two of them, in fact.
Even then, I had just backed onto the road when the first of the bullets came whizzing past my windshield. By the sound of things, more than one person was firing at me, and they weren't firing pistols, either. I ripped the shift stick into drive and stomped on the gas. Charlie would have been proud of me. My car is not exactly prime drag material, but my tires squealed louder than Buford does just before he lights that cigarette.
Thank the good Lord I didn't get hit by one of the bullets, but the rear fender of my car did.
"You'll pay for this, you bitch!" I screamed.
I was still cursing when I almost ran over Roy. He was about a half mile from the house and panting with exertion.
"Get in!" I shouted. Frankly, I'm not sure I even stopped all the way.
"Damn if you aren't something," Roy said when he could catch his breath.
I glanced in the rearview mirror for the millionth time. I could just see the pinprick of headlights. It was possible we were being pursued.
"You okay?"
"Damn," he said again.
"Then hold on to your heinie, 'cause you ain't seen nothing yet."
I pressed the petal to the metal. "Eat my dust, ladies!"
It was either luck, or divine providence, but somehow we managed to make it back to the main highway and the diner. At that point, neither of us could purposefully have navigated our way out of a paper bag.
I have nothing but praise for the law officials of Cleveland County, North Carolina. They treated me with respect, even an appropriate amount of sympathy. They were also damned efficient. Anita and the pink lady—who, as it turned out, was her cousin—were promptly arrested.
But it wasn't until I got a chance to talk to Greg that I felt really safe. Ironically, that's also when I realized just how vulnerable I had been.
"Stay right there, Abigail; I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Yes, please come," I said.
I couldn't help it. After I hung up, I bawled openly and, for the second time that night, took a thorough drenching. My relief was every bit as intense as my terror had been. Although they all swore I wasn't making a fool out of myself, I could tell that the sheriff and his men were uncomfortable. Eventually even the waitresses at The Sitting Duck cast me get-with-it looks.
Although there was nothing in it for him, dear, sweet Roy stayed with me until Greg arrived. His personal skills were only marginally better than his sense of direction, but he did his best to comfort me until Greg arrived.
"There, there," he said, patting me as if I were a baby.
"They're going to lock her up and throw away the key. You don't need to worry about her anymore."
"It's not just that, Roy. She was my friend—at least I thought she was. She had the nerve to sing at my aunt's funeral—the woman she killed! Can you imagine that?"
"The woman was a real sicko. I overheard the woman deputy say that when they arrested Anita, she was sitting in the middle of the living room in a pile of old curtains."
My heart pounded. "Green velvet drapes? Heavy things?"
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"They were my aunt's. What else did the deputy say?"
"That Anita was ripping them open with a razor knife."
"She didn't!"
"She did. And something pretty spectacular fell out of one of them."
"What?" The only time I regret being a southerner is when I want news in a hurry, while it's still news.
"Something all frilly and gold."
"Mould-bread face!"
He looked hurt. "Sorry, but I don't know about these fashion things."
"Gold thread lace!" I screamed, and gave Roy a long, hard hug.
"I still can't understand why you didn't tell me you had a sister!"
Rob hung his head. "She was only trying to protect me, Abigail. I'm her only brother. You haven't changed your mind about not pressing charges?"
"But a rotten fish on the hottest day of the year?"
"She's really sorry about that and wants a chance to apologize."
"Rotten fish can be forgiven, but I'm not so sure about the threat against my son."
Rob wrung his sculpted hands. "I told you before, Abigail, that it wasn't a threat against your son. She was trying to make a joke."
"A joke?"
"You know, Charlie the Tuna."
"Ha, ha. At the very least, Rob, your sister lacks judgment."
"You're right about that, and I'm very sorry." His contrition was genuine, I'm sure.
"And she has no sense of propriety."
"I couldn't agree more. I told h
er that the fish was a bad idea. I'll make sure she pays to have your shop fumigated."
"I'm talking about her outfits. Even in Nome, Alaska, they don't wear stuff that heavy this time of the year."
"Told you so," Bob boomed cheerfully.
"And one more thing: tell her to lose that orange getup—unless she plans to inflate it with helium and hang a gondola basket from it."
We walked over and sat down with the others. Mercifully, Peggy Redfern, our new president, did not tap on her water glass to get us started. Neither did she offer up a long prayer.
"Do we have any business this morning?" she asked, eyeing a plate of french toast two tables over.
"I'd like to propose that Bob Steuben be admitted to the association."
"Hear, hear," we all said.
Even the Major was in agreement. Although he was aware that Bob had saved his life, we had yet to tell him just how. I have no doubt that we each were hoping to hold that back as personal ammunition at some later date.
"We also have a petition for membership from a Mr. Tony D'Angelo. He is, as y'all know, the new owner of Feathers 'N Treasures."
There were a few sighs, but mine was not the loudest.
"Now, now," Peggy said, much to her credit, "we have to be fair about this. Mr. D'Angelo has promised to paint the shop, inside and out, and upgrade the merchandise. And of course, no more poster signs in the windows."
We voted Tony in.
"Of course y'all already know that I no longer plan to sell my shop to Major Calloway." I read gratitude in the glance Peggy threw my way. "As unpleasant as all this murder, and attempted murder, stuff has been, business has never been better."
She was right. Our block had become a mecca for ghoulish memsahibs whose lives lacked excitement but who had big bucks to drop. Even the Major was taking a lesson from it and had changed the name of his shop to Guns and Posies. His merchandise still had a military theme with heavy Teutonic undertones, but it now carried some furniture for the first time. One could now buy Eva Braun's daybed, and the Führer's footstool, if one was so inclined.
Peggy's order arrived and she ate a large biscuit, dripping with butter and honey, before continuing. Personally, I think that's too much for one bite. At any rate, I had no doubt that Peggy was going to switch appetites as soon as she met Roy. The lad was going to be in town the coming weekend for a personal tour of the big city by yours truly. However, I had every intention of dumping him on Peggy. Roy had already become a little too sweet on me. That kind of thing can be flattering if you're in the market, so to speak, but I had already found my treasure. Greg and I were having our second date Saturday night.
