by Linda Lovely
“Should we tell Eva?” I asked.
“No,” Mollye said.
I bit my lip. “We have to. We may have made Eva a target. What if the grandsons are liquored up when they hear about our visit? What will they do? I think we both know. They’ll burn rubber speeding down the road to pay the Hookers a nighttime visit. Even if they know Eva has company and Udderly’s inhabitants have guns, drunks tend to discount such pesky obstacles.”
Mollye nodded. “Guess you’re right. I just don’t know whether I’m more afraid of Eva or those Nelson thugs.”
No contest. I was more afraid of Eva.
THIRTY-FOUR
My aunt handled the news better than we expected. Only two streams of invective followed her verdict that Mollye and I were raving lunatics and ought to be tarred and feathered.
“What were you thinking? Folks here don’t take kindly to outsiders snooping on their land. They’re doubly touchy if they believe someone thinks they’re so plum stupid they can be scammed.” Eva sighed. “You didn’t just snoop. You insulted Granny’s intelligence. If she wasn’t so stove up, you’d both be peppered with buckshot. Once upon a time, that old fart was a damn good shot. Her lazy, good-for-nothing husband was a drunk. Often as not she was the one bagging the rabbit or squirrel for the stew pot.”
For once, Mollye had no quick comeback. She sat mute and contrite across the table. I zipped my lips, too. Wiser to let Eva run down. A heavy silence followed her rave. The quiet felt like a weight pressing on my chest. The sole sound? Eva’s fingers drumming on the table.
“Where’d you say that blasted hole was?” she asked. “How far behind the house?”
“About fifty feet,” I answered.
Eva’s lips twitched into a conniving smile. “Must be dang near the creek we share. The way our properties line up, Morgan’s Creek runs mighty close to the Nelson farm house. Then it dumps straight onto Udderly land. If you’re driving down the road, there’s a farm between the Nelson and Udderly spreads, but our backlots are cheek to jowl.” Eva went silent again. Her fingers rat-a-tatted with increased speed. “Got an idea. A way to get state yahoos to look into the goings on at the Nelsons without the sheriff knowing squat. Hand me that phone book sitting behind you, Mollye. Brie, let me see that smarty cell that puts me in mind of a kumquat growing out of your ear. I’m calling the cops. Environmental coppers.”
I glanced at Mollye, who risked raised eyebrows. I shrugged as my aunt thumbed through the white pages. “There’s the number for DHEC—the South Carolina Department of Health and Environmental Control—for you imbeciles.”
She punched in a phone number, and we kept silent as she frowned and periodically stabbed buttons. I assumed she was running through some automated screening system to keep taxpayers from conversing with humans.
“Yes, this is Eva Hooker. Is Brad Dickey in?” Eva’s voice was all business.
Silence. One beat, two. Mollye and I exchanged puzzled looks.
“Hi, Brad. Yes, it’s Eva Hooker. Some of my goats got sick right after they drank out of the stream that runs through Udderly. You know the one they call Morgan’s Creek. Uh-huh.”
Pause. “Yes, I’m sure it’s been contaminated, and I’m ninety-nine percent certain I know the source. The Nelson farm. They’re digging near that creek. I’m guessing polluted silt found its way into the streambed. They musta dug up something nasty. I’m hoping you can check it out before a thunderstorm makes it too late to save the creek. Be a shame to have to fence my goats off from it.”
Pause. “No. I wouldn’t call the Nelsons. They’ll just try to hide what they’re up to. Don’t mean to tell you your job, but I’d get whatever document you need to inspect the property. You know that family’s not real big on voluntarily cooperating with government.”
Eva hung up and laughed. “Brad thinks he’ll have his ducks in a row by afternoon. Plans to inspect the site in the morning. Best plan I could think of spur of the moment to get someone looking for our missing bones.”
“You’re one crafty old coot,” I said.
“Don’t you forget it. I’m more than a little teed off that you’ve been keeping secrets and taking stupid risks to save my wrinkled hide. Soon as I hear from Brad, you come clean with your folks. As it is, my brother will want to skin me alive for not letting him know pronto about the attempted arson. Glad I can point out we have an army to protect you tonight.”
With six people at Eva’s small dining table, we weren’t just rubbing elbows. I could feel the heat from Paint’s adjacent thigh, and Andy’s muscled calf grazed mine every time he readjusted a sneaker. We were seated boy-girl. No place cards involved. Just happened. Billy and Paint bookended Eva, and Mollye sat between Billy and Andy.
All the men dished up servings of the hardy split pea soup, loaded with peas, carrots, potatoes, and onions. Of course, they all tossed cheese and hunks of the ham I’d thawed into their bowls. The women opted for my roasted tomato basil recipe. I was the only hold-out on plunking oodles of cheese on top. Crusty bread was all I needed as a perfect accompaniment.
Before our guests arrived, Eva ordered us to follow her conversational lead at dinner. She’d decide if, or when, we’d discuss the Nelson scouting adventure and tomorrow’s DHEC inspection. Her concern was for Billy, who’d already had a mild heart attack. She feared he might stroke out if he knew we’d riled the Nelson roughnecks. That knowledge had raised my own blood pressure more than a skootch.
As a consequence, our dinner chatter seemed rather tame. We discussed Eva’s bail hearing, the court system, and electronic anklets. My aunt modeled her new chunky jewelry by hiking up a pant leg and prancing around the room.
Eva confided she was considering going with a public defender. “Hiring what Brie’s mom describes as a first-rate defense attorney could bankrupt Udderly.” She glanced over at me. “And it could leave Brie’s parents strapped as well. Not sure how much difference an expensive lawyer could make.”
“How long till the trial?” Billy asked.
Eva shrugged. “Could be months, maybe half a year.”
The news dumbfounded me. Would Eva be confined to Udderly all that time? While my aunt spent most days on the farm, being imprisoned here would put an ugly crimp in her lifestyle. No visits to the women’s shelter she supported. No poker nights. No evenings at Clemson University for concerts and rodeos. Rooting for the Clemson women’s basketball and fast-pitch softball teams were among her favorite pastimes.
Mollye helped me clear the dishes, and I poured coffee for the caffeine fiends. Paint fiddled with his mug, then sighed.
“Don’t you think it’s time we talked about last night’s attempted arson? I’d sure like to know if anyone has some new thoughts about scaring off trespassers.”
“Yep, especially if those trespassers include the Nelson boys,” Mollye blurted.
“What about the Nelsons?” Billy asked.
“Oops.” Mollye glanced over at Eva. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Eva said. “Might as well bring everyone up to speed if we’re going to do a little brainstorming.”
Five minutes later the entire table knew about the previous night’s visitors and Mollye’s and my hasty visit to the Nelson farm.
“The upside is that DHEC will do some official snooping at the Nelson place come morning,” Eva said, letting us off easy.
Paint smiled. “Well, not much we can do to beef up security tonight, but I did talk to the guy who installed Magic Moonshine’s security systems. Since Udderly’s size makes perimeter alarms impractical, he suggested placing action-activated sensors near the main buildings. But given that Udderly has all manner of free-range critters roaming about that idea’s worthless.”
“Sorry you wasted your time,” Eva said. “Lilly and I looked at security options early on before there were a lot of fancy-schmancy electronic gizmos. We decided our bes
t bet was to count on our guard dogs and that trusty rifle I keep by the door. Not sure that’s changed.”
Eva glanced toward the umbrella stand that held her new long gun. “Glad I got me a fast replacement for my .22. That reminds me. Shouldn’t that miserable son-of-a-bitch sheriff have to return my gun? Ballistics proved Jed was killed with his own, not my gun. Still can’t fathom how someone could have wrestled Jed’s weapon away from him and plugged the bastard. Mighty hard to believe that rifle was hidden in the loft for forty years and I never saw it. Don’t go up there a lot, but I’ve visited plenty.”
Bet it wasn’t there for forty years.
As that thought popped into mind, I wondered why the explanation hadn’t occurred to me sooner. Did one of the sheriff’s goons plant Jed’s gun during the so-called search? If so, where had that rifle been all this time?
Billy patted Eva’s hand. “You don’t have to worry none about a shortage of guns at Udderly tonight. Paint, Andy, and me all brought artillery to the party. Even those pea-brained Nelsons will think twice about tangling with us.”
I shuddered. Somehow the idea of a freakin’ arsenal didn’t bring me peace of mind. I kept imagining a storm of bullets with us holed up in the cabin, like Paul Newman and Robert Redford in that old movie Mom liked so much.
Could the sheriff somehow convince the FBI we were right-wing militia nutcases who’d taken over a goat farm?
“Hey, Eva, you didn’t let me finish my story about my security guy.”
Paint’s voice stopped my mental spiral into conspiracy land.
Eva harrumphed. “Guess you shouldn’t spend so much time yapping about what won’t work, Paint. You have something useful to share?”
“Matter of fact, I do.” He got up from the table and retrieved a bag he’d stashed by the couch. He emptied the contents on the table. Round, flat micro-discs and what looked like Hobbit-sized radios. “My guy asked if we had any suspects. If so, he said we could plant bugs and eavesdrop or attach trackers to their cars. Not legal but mighty useful to figure out what we’re up against. Candidates, anyone?”
“Sheriff Jones and Deputy West are my nominees,” I answered. “But bugging the Sheriff’s Office would be impossible, and if any of the lawmen are up to no good at night, what would they drive? Official vehicles? Their own cars? Borrowed backhoes?” I closed my eyes to think. “I’ll bet it would be easy to bug Victor Caldwell. That banker’s involved somehow. He’s such a pompous ass. I don’t think he’d ever suspect mere mortals would dare bug his office.”
Eva drummed her fingers. A nervous tic that popped up more and more often. Had to be the strain.
“Niece, dear, you have a winner. I doubt Victor would soil his hands to join a dig for bones at Udderly, but I’d love to know what’s up with that Sunrise Ridge deal. He’s clearly in bed with Jones and West. If he’s involved in under-the-table dealings with them, maybe we can gain some leverage. How would you propose I go about bugging him?”
I shook my head. “Remember, your little ankle jewelry won’t let you go anywhere. But I can visit the bank tomorrow. Not sure he’d invite me into his office, but I think I can finesse his prune-faced secretary if he steps out.”
“Ooh, I’ll help.” Mollye waved her arms like a kindergartener who had to go potty. “We can wait until he goes for his regular afternoon munchies at Abby’s Diner. Then I can distract prune puss while you waltz in and plant a bug. What fun.”
Andy cleared his throat. “You do recall Paint mentioning that bugging is illegal. If you get caught, Sheriff Jones will throw the book at you—if he doesn’t take more drastic action. You know, off-the-books, break-your-legs-type action.”
Mollye stuck out her tongue. “Spoilsport. Who could catch this dynamic duo?” She batted her eyes. “Brie and I are stealth warriors. Practically invisible.”
I laughed. Mollye was attired in her gypsy-esque costume. I practically needed sunglasses to look at her purple, red, and orange getup. We’d proven quite visible to an old bat with cataracts, and I was betting there were younger, sharper eyes at the bank—not to mention surveillance cameras. Andy had a point. But if we were careful, we could pull it off—or at a minimum talk our way out of trouble.
“Brie, the set of your chin tells me you’re going for it,” Andy said. “If so, let Paint and me be your posse. We can track your every move on your iPhone. At least we’ll know if you’ve been thrown in jail or abducted.”
“Pardon me? Are you planning to become my official stalkers?”
Andy shrugged. “Guess that’s one way of looking at it. My granddad’s ninety. He’s not senile, but sometimes he gets lost. We put a tracker app on his phone. Whenever he goes AWOL, we use the app to locate him. Then we text an SOS to the family. Whoever’s closest comes to his rescue.”
“You think Mollye and I are going to forget we’re in the bank?” I laughed. “Don’t think so. And I’m not sure I like the idea of anyone tracking my every move. What if I want to have a secret rendezvous with a hamburger at Sonic? I’d have no secrets.”
I was only half kidding. If Paint and Andy could track me, I figured someone else could figure out how to follow the same cyber breadcrumbs.
Mollye knocked on the table to get attention. “Hey, don’t you boys want to track my every move, too?”
Paint chuckled. “I’d be too afraid to track your moves Mollye. TMI.”
Barking dogs, the roar of a big engine and the sudden screech of brakes saved me from making a decision. We had company. Billy jumped up and hurried to the window. “It’s the Nelson boys. Let me handle this.”
Billy hefted the shotgun he’d left by the door. Chairs scraped as Andy and Paint scrambled to get up from the table and grab their firearms. The men had stored their favorite weapons inside. Eva, too. She was right behind them, her replacement shotgun in hand. Lord almighty, what had Mollye and I done? Were we in for a firefight?
“Wait,” I yelled at Billy just as he reached the door. “Blind ’em so they can’t see you. Andy’s big flashlight’s sitting on the side table.”
“Good idea.” Andy grabbed the super-powered light he usually kept in his veterinary pack and jumped ahead of Billy. He cracked the door and aimed his quasi-spotlight at the brothers. A “dammit to hell” curse said the light had found its target. That was the cue for our cabin shooting team to step out on the porch, guns raised in we-mean-business poses.
Gunless, Mollye and I scrambled to the window to watch the confrontation and figure out how to help. I considered grabbing a cast-iron frying pan, but, as a weapon, it had severe range limitations. No time to boil oil or Eva’s bacon grease to hurl at the gate crashers.
“Git that derned light outta my eyes,” a Nelson brother yelled. His slurred speech said he was drunk as a skunk. “We see that little hippie bitch’s van’s here just like we figered. You tell that lunatic to stay off’a our land. That goes for all them Hookers, too.”
“Yeah, them Hookers are good for only one thing.”
“Get off Udderly, now,” Billy yelled back. “Don’t have to tell you how South Carolina courts view a killin’ when someone shoots a trespasser. Now git afore we air-condition you and that rusty bucket you call a truck.”
“We’re leavin’,” one of the Nelson brothers yelled. “Don’t think it’s over. Sooner or later, you’ll be gone. We can wait.”
My heart beat like an overworked tom-tom as the truck roared in reverse. It sprayed gravel as it pivoted one-eighty and flew down the drive, headed back to the main road.
“Hey, did you get a good look at Harry Nelson?” Andy asked. “His cheek was black-and-blue and I swear one of his front teeth was missing.”
“Think he was one of the men who tried to burn down the barn?” I asked.
“Maybe. They’re kin to the sheriff. They could be in cahoots with him,” Mollye added. “The Nelsons both own motorcycles. ’Course,
it’s quite possible Harry got punched out in a brawl. He’s not exactly a people person.”
The armed porch brigade straggled back inside. Guns returned to their lineup by the door.
“Think they’ll be back tonight?” Paint asked.
“Nah,” Billy answered. “But I’d feel better if we had a lookout. Maybe take turns at a watch.”
I volunteered, but Eva and the men were only interested in lookouts who packed heat. “Hey,” I objected. “You gave me a lesson. I know how to shoot. I can take your rifle.”
Eva chuckled. “Yep, you know how to pull a trigger. But none of us are willing to risk your aim. Now, be honest, did you hit a single one of those paper targets I hung?”
I shrugged. Guess I’d better practice more if I planned to live at Udderly and contribute more than cooking and bookkeeping.
After a fair bit of haggling, the gun-toters drew up a sentinel schedule. Much to her chagrin, Eva wasn’t given a spot on the rotation either. Billy insisted she was too exhausted. My aunt protested but finally accepted the inevitable. “Men,” she muttered. “Stubborn jackasses.”
Takes one to know one.
Mollye agreed to join our slumber party. No one wanted our resident hippie-gypsy to return alone to her apartment. While we doubted the Nelson boys were sober enough to drive to her place without playing bumper cars with parked vehicles, they might sober up.
For tonight, I’d share my queen bed. Had to admit Mollye wasn’t my first choice for bedmate. However, it would have been a bit crowded if my first two candidates had slipped under the covers.
THIRTY-FIVE
Moonlight streamed through the flimsy lace curtains, serving as a natural nightlight. I glanced at my bedmate. Mollye had stolen the covers and somehow managed to trap all loose edges beneath her ample body. How could she still flounce and bounce the bed like her personal trampoline when she was wrapped tighter than a tamale?
