“One. Two. Three!”
We scrambled out from under the vehicle and ran in a crouch all the way to the refrigerator door. Derek lifted it by the handle and I ducked behind it just in time.
A shot connected with the metal.
Running with a hundred-pound refrigerator door as a shield is not as easy as it sounds. I would have really loved a pair of Wonder Woman bracelets right then.
“Geez, this thing weighs more than that damn bird!” Derek said.
Liberty! Where the heck was she?
Derek was usually faster than I was, but he was running backward, holding the bulk of the door. I faced front, looking for anything to take cover in. There was the tractor, a snowmobile to the left of that, and one lone oak tree beyond.
I made an executive decision. “Derek, the tractor isn’t too far, just hang on to that door.”
A shot splintered part of the tree and I veered us away from it. The tractor was a gigantic John Deere yellow and green number, which meant it was big enough to hide behind for the time it would take to check my phone for a signal.
Two more shots sailed into our makeshift shield.
“Are we there yet?” Derek asked, and then he screamed. “Shit! OW! Shit!”
“Oh my God, Derek? Are you shot?”
“Son of a—geez that hurt!”
“Almost there. Hang on!”
The tractor was two steps away. More shots zinged off an empty gas can.
Just as we circled around the machine, Derek screamed again and I heard a crunch.
“Are you hit again? What happened?”
“I wasn’t hit at all. I think I stepped on a nail back there, but that sack of monkey dung just shot my shades off my face!”
Oh no. I looked down. “And I just stepped on them. Damn, we needed those pictures!” I was pretty sure any evidence left on that car would be gone if we ever got out of here alive.
“Forget the pictures! You owe me two hundred fifty bucks, man.”
At that moment, Liberty swooped down, screaming. She soared back up, took a longing look at Derek, and flapped majestically toward the path we had just taken.
“I think she’s trying to buy us some time. Come on!” I said.
Derek scooped up what was left of his spy shades and shoved them into his shirt pocket. I checked my phone again. Still no signal, which didn’t really surprise me.
We were in the middle of nowhere.
I quickly scanned the junkyard. The snowmobile, I noticed, had a smashed front end. In fact, most of the cars around were badly injured in one capacity or another. The tractor, however, seemed in tip-top shape.
“Derek, maybe we can climb in the cab.”
“And then what? That’s probably not bulletproof glass, Lucy,” he said in a Hispanic accent.
Right.
“Maybe there’s a weapon inside. Farmers carry shotguns, right? Give me a boost.”
I slipped my foot into his clasped hands and he hoisted me onto the bulging tire. I squealed like a little girl. “Derek, keys! There are keys in the ignition with an eagle key ring. This must be Scoog’s.”
“Great. You know how to drive one of these things?”
“How hard can it be?”
“You realize it’s an all-glass cab, a one-seater, and probably goes about ten miles an hour, right?”
“If you have a better idea, Negative Nancy, I’m all ears.”
He didn’t.
The nail in Derek’s foot banished any argument about who would drive, so I climbed in and he followed. Then I fired the beast up.
Or tried to.
The engine didn’t turn over.
Tried again. Nothing.
“Stop that! You need to put your foot on the clutch or you’ll flood the engine,” Derek said. “You do know how to drive stick, right?”
“Cinnamon taught me awhile ago. I think I remember.”
Shoot. I didn’t realize it was a manual transmission. There was a long lever that looked like a parking brake. I released that and Derek nearly sailed through the windshield.
“Sorry.”
He glared at me.
“I’ll get it.” It wasn’t like I spent my weekends tilling the fields or attending tractor pulls, although considering how most of my weekends turned out, I may give it a try next time.
A bullet hit something in the back of the machine just as I pushed in the clutch. I stepped on the gas and the tractor jerked forward, then lunged back a few times before I finally found the balance. When I turned the key one last time, the engine rumbled to life.
I bobbed and weaved as I shifted the four-wheeled monstrosity into its highest gear. I figured it was harder to hit a moving target. Derek was scrunched against the door like one of those suction-cup car ornaments.
“Keep an eye on that phone and call Leo as soon as you get a signal.”
“Gee, and I was just going to ride it out and see what happens,” Derek said sarcastically. “I’m in pain here! I plan to call the po-po, the fire department, an ambulance, and the National Guard! Then I’m calling the closest nuthouse to have you evaluated.”
“Oh please, it’s not like you got shot,” I said, glancing at his foot. It was gushing blood. One nail could do all that damage? Thank the Goddess he didn’t have time to examine it. Derek wasn’t exactly Rambo. Every time he sees his own blood—and I mean a freaking paper cut—he faints. I didn’t want him to notice the horror on my face, so I kept talking as I wiggled my bag off my shoulder and laid it over his feet.
“Besides, you’re the one with the feathered girlfriend. Speaking of which, do you see her?” I chewed my lip, trying desperately to maneuver the tractor away from stray cars, antique lawn mowers, and small rodents. “Hope she doesn’t get hurt.”
Derek moved his head slightly. “I can hear her. But I don’t hear anything else.”
I listened. He was right. The pinging sounds had ceased. At least for the moment.
“Go, Liberty,” I said.
It was a bumpy ride for several minutes as we dodged a ghostly motorcycle, a rotting pontoon boat, and, ahead in the distance, some sort of metal sculpture shaped like a dinosaur. That dinosaur looked familiar.
I searched the recesses of my brain until I recalled a field trip I took as a child to what the teacher called Art in the Park. A local metalworks artist and welder who lived just off the highway welcomed classes to tour his property and his many works of art. It was all made from recycled metal such as wheel rims, bed frames, wrenches, farm equipment, saws—even tractor parts. It made sense now. He must have acquired a lot of the material from Scoog. From what I understood, he was popular with tourists from Chicago’s North Shore and trendy shop owners from Wicker Park, Logan Square, and Boystown.
We must have been close to his property.
Surely he would have a phone.
“Derek, what’s the name of that road?”
He pulled out a small film canister from his back pocket. With one flick, it transformed into an extended single-vision scope, like a ship’s captain might use.
“Does everyone shop at the spy store but me?” Aunt Lolly, I’d learned the hard way, loved that place.
“It’s filled with some cool stuff, let me tell you.” Derek winced in pain as he shifted his weight and angled his body forward. “Looks like Blue Diamond Drive.”
“Do you think the GPS will work on the phone without any network coverage?”
“If it can ping off a satellite, then sure.”
“Give it a try.”
I slowed the tractor down when we reached a dirt road. There were no cars coming as far as I could see and the dinosaur was farther away than I thought. The size had deceived me and I didn’t see a house or even a mailbox nearby.
“The GPS is not zeroing in on us, but it’s giving a map of the area. Looks like whatever was last plugged into it is lingering.”
“Do you see the road anywhere on there?”
“Yep. Looks like we’re about fifte
en miles from town, and White Hope snakes around the other side of Blue Diamond.”
The phone beeped the low-battery cry.
“Turn it off. Can’t afford to lose any more juice right now,” I said.
I forged ahead, glancing often at Derek. He looked pale. “There should be a water in my bag. Might be some snacks too.”
The tractor bounced along the dirt road, the hum of the engine the only sound for miles. It was hotter than Hades’ oven inside so I asked Derek to open his window and I did the same. He handed me half the bottle of water and I accepted a sip but gave him the rest. I had no idea how much blood he had lost, but the stench of fear and our own body odor was enough to make anyone pass out at that point. For a moment, I considered tearing directly over to White Hope Road and just driving this behemoth mobile right down the center line, hoping someone would call the cops.
I spotted a domed house, fit for a hobbit, in a thicket of trees. It was flanked by two metal knights.
“Derek, is that an oasis or is that really a house?”
“It’s either a house or we’ve stumbled upon the lost land of Camelot.”
I smiled. “Let’s hope Merlin’s home.”
Chapter 16
The poor man came out of his home looking like aliens had just landed.
I guess it wasn’t every day a tractor pulled into his driveway carrying a local reporter and a photographer who was cursing and bleeding all over the gravel.
I tried to get Derek to wait inside the vehicle, but he refused. Actually, refused is putting it mildly. What he said was, “Are you crazy? Let me guess, you think if I sit here in this heat I’ll melt into a chocolate bunny that you can gobble up? Who-wee.” He rubbed his stomach. “I’m Stacy and I’d love me a chocolate bunny.”
Okay, not only did that make no sense, but I hadn’t eaten a chocolate bunny since I was five, and I was pretty sure that statement was racist.
He was seriously losing coherency. I had to make sure he didn’t inspect his foot.
“Fine, but just stay here, okay? And”—I glanced over my shoulder for emphasis—“keep an eye on this guy.” That might keep him from looking down.
Derek crossed his arms, lifted his chin, and adjusted an invisible hat in an attempt to look all badass gangsta.
When I turned back around the man was just a few feet behind me. “Can I help you with something?”
His eyes sparkled with curiosity. He had a grease-stained rag in his hands and he was polishing a brass pipe, but the rest of his appearance gave the impression of a freshly retired teacher ready to hit the links.
“Pipe!” Derek screamed.
I turned around and gave Derek the OK sign.
He nodded.
“You in some kind of trouble?” the man asked me.
There were about thirty different ways to answer that question and I was ready to start with the very bad man and his endless supply of ammo, but my savior pushed me gently aside and said, “My stars! Son, what happened to your foot?”
Well, hell.
That was all it took. Derek ogled his bloody appendage, shrieked, and collapsed to the ground like a deflated balloon.
I turned to smile at the man whom I hoped would let us in his house.
I quickly ran through a false scenario. We were lost, had been in the heat all day with nothing to eat or drink, then Derek stepped on God knows what, and when we stumbled across a tractor it was do or die.
I left out most of the “die” part. This guy had heard and seen enough.
He rushed to help me carry Derek inside and we laid him on the cool tile in the foyer. I could see what had impaled his foot. A generous portion of a broken beer bottle.
“This is my studio, you see. I don’t have too many luxuries. No Internet, no kitchen, but there is a bathroom and a landline. In the far corner of the bathroom”—he pointed down a short hall—“there are some old towels.”
I thanked him and ran to wet a towel down. When I came back, he was on the phone and I knelt to tend to Derek.
“Yes, it looks like a puncture wound. I am at fifty-three Blue Diamond Drive. My name is Frank Moriarty.”
I dropped the towel.
He hung up after giving the emergency operator a few more details.
“Did you say Frank Moriarty?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Moriarty. That was the name of Lolly’s Jack.
The phone rang.
Frank answered it and said, “Yes. Yes. She is. Would you like to speak with her?” A pause, a confused look.
I mopped Derek’s head with the wet towel.
“All right.” He hung up.
I continued taking care of my fallen colleague.
“Um…” Frank said.
“Yes?”
“Well, I assume from the description given to me that you are Stacy Justice?”
“I am.”
“Would you mind telling me then, seeing as you’re in my studio and all, why the police chief asked me to detain you?”
I had to think fast. Thing was, there was really no good reason why this man should not usher me right out the door but…
“Does the name Lolly Geraghty ring a bell?”
He hesitated, seeming to recall a faraway memory. “My stars, I haven’t heard that name in years.” He scratched his closely trimmed beard. “She was a friend of my cousin’s a long time ago.”
“Your cousin?”
Derek began to stir and I fought the urge to kick him.
“Yes. Jack disappeared years ago. Right before he was to marry Lolly. Did you know her?”
The redirection was working. He no longer seemed to care that I may have been a fugitive.
“She’s my great-aunt. I’m told they were quite an item.”
Frank sat down on a bench. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about any of that. You see, Jack disappeared close to fifty years ago and we weren’t from town. My parents lived outside of Chicago.”
“So what brought you here to Amethyst?”
“My grandparents left me this land when they passed. I always enjoyed the area, so on one visit I bought a little cottage in town and decided to use this land for my workshop.”
There was a knock at the door. “Paramedics.”
Derek was just coming to, but he saw the green glass protruding from his foot and passed out again.
The paramedics rolled out a gurney and gently lifted Derek onto it. Most of the EMTs in Amethyst were volunteers and I recognized the young woman. “Stacy, did you want to ride with him?”
“Oh, um…” I glanced at Mr. Moriarty. He didn’t seem too eager to detain me. I reached inside my bag for my card and handed it to him. Then I pulled out the notebook and said, “Would you mind jotting down your number? I’d like to repay you somehow and plus”—I pointed out the window—“let you know when the tractor will be removed.”
He held up my card. “You know, I thought you looked familiar. I’ve read your articles in the paper.” He grabbed the notebook and scribbled in it, then handed it back to me. “And don’t mention it. That’s what neighbors are for.”
“How about I write a profile piece showcasing your work?”
“Sounds great.”
And maybe I could find out more about what happened to his cousin.
They got Derek settled into the ambulance and I climbed in after him.
We passed Leo’s car on White Hope Road.
He caught up with me at the hospital.
“Do I even want to know why you stole a tractor?” he asked me.
I was in the waiting area outside the emergency room flipping through a copy of Guns and Ammo.
“I didn’t steal it, I borrowed it. I’ll return it to Mr. Scoog.”
“You going to return his bird too?”
That got my attention. “Liberty didn’t go home?”
“Who is Liberty?”
“That’s the name of the bird.”
Leo sat down across from me and remove
d his sunglasses. His face was mostly tanned except for a slight strip where the bridge of the sunglasses covered his nose.
“All I know is that he tried to call you several times but it kept going straight to voice mail so he got the idea in his head that you ran off with his bird.”
I chewed my lower lip. This was not good. I would feel absolutely horrible if something had happened to Liberty. After all, she may have saved both Derek’s life and mine today.
It would be all my fault too.
I swore softly.
“Look, forget about the bird. I’m sure she’ll turn up. And Gus brought the tractor back to the property. So”—he leaned forward—“are you going to tell me what happened?”
I met his gaze, trying to read his face. I couldn’t tell if he was holding a busted flush or a full house.
I pretended to fumble through my bag for my phone, explaining that I was in the market for a scooter and I heard Mr. Scoog had the best deals in town.
Okay, I am not proud of the fact that I became a pathological liar, but I wasn’t ready to show my cards to Leo yet.
Finally I felt it. I peeked to make sure the stone in my hand was the blue topaz I had been fishing for. It was. I was getting pretty good at recognizing the gems by touch since they were all different shapes and sizes. Not that I carried many in my workbag, but in my business, extracting the truth was important and blue topaz not only does this, but it aids in shedding light on uncertain situations. Since the path I was about to take with Leo was a dangerous one, or at the very least a stupid one, I needed all the help I could get.
I tried to tune him out for a moment as I focused on the question to the stone.
Topaz, blue and bright, what is his truth, where is my light?
“A scooter,” Leo said. “Why was Derek with you?”
“He wanted a Coke machine. I hear they’re collectable.”
Leo nodded as if that made perfect sense. He must not have seen the one bullet that hit the tractor. At least not yet.
“Then what happened?”
“We got lost.” I shrugged. “Look, it was scorching hot and we had very little water and that place is acres wide. And then Derek…”
Leo’s face softened. “Then Derek got hurt.”
He was offering his own explanation. His own theory. That was unusual for him, but great for me.
Tiger's Eye (A Stacy Justice Mystery Book Three) Page 9
