Canal Days Calamity

by Jamie M. Blair

  “Have a good night,” I said, slipping down from the cab and shutting the door.

  I slogged across the driveway and down the sidewalk, past the beehive to the porch. Even the bees were tucked in tight together in their rain-proof box for the night.

  I opened the door and was pummeled by twelve paws and three slobbery tongues giving doggy kisses. Immediately, my spirit lifted. “What would I do without you guys?” I got down on my knees and snuggled my face into Gus’s fur, capturing a twin under each arm to hug.

  “You’ve only been gone an hour,” Mia said, standing at the end of the hall in the kitchen.

  “We said it would be quick, and I didn’t really feel like staying longer.”

  “Oh. Well, I called everybody who signed up for the pageant and told them about the parade. I didn’t know where you wanted them to meet or what time, so I just told them to meet at the gristmill Sunday at noon.”

  “Mia, that’s so kind of you. Thank you.” I couldn’t believe my ears. This girl had a huge heart when she wanted to. As soon as she grew out of her teen drama years, she would be a nice, thoughtful young woman.

  She shrugged. “I was bored.”

  I watched her disappear back into the family room and couldn’t help laughing silently to myself. What a kid.

  • Eighteen •

  I woke up to Ben shaking me. “Cam, get up. The canal’s flooding.”

  I bolted upright in bed. “No. It can’t be. Not today.”

  “I’m sorry, but it is. It’s headed this way.”

  I knew what that meant. Sand bags and lots of them. We had them stashed in the shed and the garage. “I’m getting up.”

  “Where’s Monica? I knocked on her door, too.”

  “With Quinn.”

  “Oh. I see. It’s serious with them then.”

  “Seems to be.”

  My clock read 4:38 in the morning. There was still a chance that the rain would stop and the flooding would go down in time for the festival. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

  Ben left me to get started outside. I staggered out of bed and stuck one foot and then the next into the jeans I wore to Brenda’s party. After throwing on an old sweatshirt that hadn’t been yarned with spaghetti and meatballs, I tugged on a pair of socks and stuck my feet into my rain boots.

  Downstairs, Mia was shoving her arms into her raincoat. “I can’t believe this is happening after I spent last night organizing a pet parade.”

  “Welcome to my world.” I grabbed my own raincoat from the closet and pulled it on. “Let’s go lug some sand around to the front of the house. They’re heavy, so we’ll work together.”

  “Too bad the dogs can’t drag them.”

  “They’d have to be trained to do that, and they don’t even sit on command.”

  “We really need to do something about them,” she said, swinging the back door open to the lashing rain.

  All five dogs were cowering in the corner beside the fridge, infringing on Isobel’s private spot. She bared her teeth in annoyance. Even Spook was hiding out on top of my cupboards, peering down at the canine crew below.

  “Bunch of wimps,” I told them, stepping out into the storm and pulling the door closed.

  The town was out in full force. Will, John, and Paul were securing the antiques that Will stored in his pole barn out back. “Good to see you two jailbirds!” I called over the rain, waving.

  “Even in the rain it’s a good day,” John called back.

  “In the canal town of Metamora, the community rallies together to overcome Mother Nature,” Andy was saying while he filmed, standing in front of the garage.

  “Already back at it, I see,” I said, running up to give him a hug.

  “This is award-winning material,” he said. “The plight of man. Neighbors overcoming adversity.”

  “Well don’t let me get in your way. We have sandbags to pile.”

  Mia and I each grabbed an end and hefted a bag off the ground a few inches. It was slow going, but we managed to get it to the end of the driveway. “Leave that there,” Stewart said, jogging over. “Ben and I will stack them.”

  The canal had already risen over the banks and was halfway to the street. “I haven’t listened to a weather report. Is it supposed to stop?”

  “Not until tomorrow,” he said, reaching up to squeeze my shoulder. “Sorry about Canal Days, Cam. I know how hard you worked on it.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” My heart was melting. All the time and effort my team and I put in was wasted. Gone in a flash flood.

  Mia and I continued hauling sand bags to the end of the driveway for the next hour. Quinn pulled up with Monica in his pickup truck. “Judy woke us up to tell us about the flood,” Monica shouted from the passenger side. Conan was cuddled against her side.

  “I’m going to park on higher ground,” Quinn said, “and come help.”

  Monica and Conan jumped out of the truck and ran around to the driveway while Quinn turned around and headed back up the street to find a safe place to park.

  “Looks like you’ve made a new friend,” I said, patting Conan’s head.

  “He’s the best dog. Smarter than a lot of people,” she said, chuckling.

  “Maybe that’ll rub off on the others.”

  We looked at each other, shared a doubtful look with Mia, and all three of us laughed. My dogs were hopeless.

  A second automobile pulled up in front of the house, this time a car. A car with Nick Valentine inside. “Don’t get mad,” he said, darting out from the driver’s side. “I’m not here to see Mia. I need to see Officer Hayman. I need help.” He looked over his shoulder. “Avery Bantum is trying to kill me.”

  ∞

  “What do you mean Avery Bantum is trying to kill you?” I’d made Nick come inside, sat him down at the kitchen table, and gotten him a cup of strong coffee.

  “We’ve been trying to find out what he had to do with Butch Landow’s death,” Mia said to me.

  I spun to her. “What?! What do you mean we?”

  “Well, you and your Action Agency never include me in anything, so when I ran into Nick and we started talking and he told me his boss was into some dirty business, I figured I’d find out what and make you and Dad proud of me.”

  My stomach sank. “Mia, we’re always proud of you. You don’t have to solve a murder to make us proud. You put yourself in serious danger.”

  Nick drummed his fingers on the table. “Avery found out I was snooping around at work. I told him I don’t know anything, but he pulled a gun on me and said I know too much. I ran. He fired shots but missed me.”

  “Good gravy. How do we get you out of this mess?”

  “Shouldn’t we get Dad?” Mia asked.

  “Of course we should. Just not right this second.” I needed to find out how Stewart figured in to this, but not with Mia sitting here. “Do you know what Avery is up to?” I asked Nick instead.

  “Not the exact details, but he’s been getting a lot of money from people and not from keeping their dogs at the kennel. There’s never one dog in there.”

  “What do you do there then?”

  “Mostly he has me watching the security cameras and letting him know if anyone shows up.”

  “He’s shady,” Mia said.

  “So this is what you two have been up to?” I asked.

  “I told you it wasn’t what you thought,” Mia said. “I was trying to help and you grounded me from the pageant.”

  “You were sneaking around doing something dangerous. I don’t feel bad about grounding you.” I turned back to Nick. “Do you know what Track Times is?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to find out. I know it has something to do with all the cash.”

  I took a deep breath, resigning myself to what I had to do next—get Ben and Stewart
inside and lay everything out on the table. “I’m going to get your dad,” I told Mia. “You and Nick stay here.”

  “Are you going to tell him I was involved?” she asked, pleading.

  “Mia, I just don’t know if I can keep it from him.”

  She closed her eyes and let out a huff.

  “We’ll see,” I said. “Let’s get Nick out of trouble and then we’ll worry about you.”

  ∞

  Back outside, Monica and Quinn had joined Ben and Stewart stacking sand bags. Will, John, and Paul were now doing the same next door. Conan dragged a bag down the driveway toward the street. There was nothing that dog couldn’t do. All of them were soaked to the bone, and a low, lumpy wall was going up slowly, but surely. A wall that Mike stood on top of, quacking like a drill sergeant.

  “Ben!” I shouted. “Ben! I need to talk to you! It’s urgent!”

  “If it’s about Elaina, we’re headed her way next,” he called back.

  “Elaina? What’s wrong with Elaina?”

  “She’s having some crisis or another.”

  “I’ll head over there now!” It terrified me to think of our own Grandma Diggity in trouble.

  The streets were flooding, so I couldn’t take Monica’s car. I hightailed it as fast as my legs would carry me to the bridge. The water was rushing underneath so close to the boards of the bridge, I was afraid it might wash away. With no time to let fear derail me, I kept on going and ran down the ally past Read and ReRead to the next road, where Elaina’s house sat on the corner.

  Sue and Elaina sat on the screened in porch. Sue was trying to calm her grandma. “It’s okay, we’ll find him.”

  “Find who?” I asked, rushing inside. “Ben said there was something going on.”

  “Good Luck Chuck!” Elaina howled, crying and balling her shirt in her fists. “He’s stuck in the barn. We have to get to him before it floods!”

  “Who’s Good Luck Chuck?” I asked.

  Sue shook her head, clearly as confused as I was.

  “Elaina,” I said, taking her hand and easing her balled up shirt out of her fist. “Tell me who Good Luck Chuck is. Where does he live?”

  “In the barn! In the barn!”

  “Okay, is he a horse?”

  “No! He’s Good Luck Chuck!”

  “We’re getting nowhere fast,” Sue said. “Grandma, is Chuck a person or an animal?”

  “Why would he be a person? How could a person run that fast?”

  An animal that ran fast. “Not a horse?”

  “Good Luck Chuck isn’t a horse!” Elaina shouted. “Butch sold all his horses!”

  “Butch? Butch Landow? Good Luck Chuck was his? And he’s in his barn?”

  “He’s stuck in the barn! I can’t get him!”

  “Good gravy, come on, Sue! We have a … a something to save.”

  “Don’t worry, Grandma, Cam and I will get Chuck out of the barn. You stay here. We’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Poor Chuck,” Elaina whimpered.

  Sue pulled her phone out. “I’m texting Steph to come stay with her and make sure she doesn’t wander out in the storm.”

  We hurried out the door of Elaina’s porch and jogged down the road that ran behind Dog Diggity. The electric fence may or may not have been turned off. I never did get the answer I’d been searching for, but either way, the two of us had to get past it onto Landow farm land.

  “Let me,” I said, stopping her from reaching out and touching the wire. “If I die, don’t let my mother bury me in pink.”

  “I promise,” she said.

  I squinted my eyes and quickly jabbed my forefinger against the wire.

  Nothing.

  “Oh, thank the lord.” I pressed my hand to my battering heart.

  “Let’s go through,” Sue said, holding the top wire up and stepping over the bottom one. “Careful, these are barbed.”

  I knew me, and I knew my luck, so I wasn’t at all surprised when my hair snagged on the upper wire, and the rubber sole of my rain boot got impaled on the bottom.

  “We have to get moving,” Sue said, already jogging away from the fence.

  I did what any good town employee would do in an emergency, and bucked up, jerking my head through and losing a boot. I kicked off the other boot and ran, rubbing my head where I’d sacrificed quite a few strands of hair. It hurt like Hades’s fire.

  “Do you know this farm?” I yelled to Sue.

  “No, do you?”

  “No. How do we find the barn?”

  “Should be close to the house.”

  It made sense, but I didn’t remember seeing it in Andy’s video.

  I followed her down a hill that curved to the right and around a patch of trees. The ground was worn into a path, and I kept slipping in mud. My socks dragged six inches off of each of my feet, throwing up wet splotches of mud into my face as I ran. I could barely see for the rain in my eyes. So help me, if I got to this barn and nobody was inside in need of saving, Grandma Diggity was toast.

  Despite the adrenaline rush pumping through me, I was panting and light headed. I wasn’t used to running like this. I never wanted to be used to it, either. Why run when you can walk? That was my motto. And even though the rain had finally broken through the clouds, my knee wasn’t back to one hundred percent.

  I had to stop before I busted a lung. “Sue!” I yelled between gasps of air. I bent over and braced my hands on my knees. “I’ve gotta … slow … down.”

  She jogged back to me. “Want me to go on ahead?”

  I nodded, holding up a finger. “Just need one minute to catch my breath. I’ll catch up.”

  Sue dashed off again and disappeared around a bend up ahead between the trees. Glancing down I realized I was standing in a puddle that covered my left foot completely. Giving up on the socks, I peeled them off and tossed them aside. Mud squished between my toes—and probably worms, but I didn’t let my thoughts linger on that. I had to get moving again.

  I started out walking, picking up the pace as I went, ramping up slowly, only as much as my lung capacity would allow. I didn’t want to end up gasping again. Maybe I had exercise-induced asthma?

  Who was I kidding? I didn’t normally exercise enough to induce a sweat, let alone asthma.

  Good gravy, I was out of shape.

  Where was this barn?

  A low whine sounded from behind me in the distance, but it was getting closer. An engine. Who in the world would be out in this storm driving around the back pasture of Landow Farm?

  Nothing good could come of this.

  I hustled in between two holly bushes and waited to see who would pass by. A four-wheeler came into view with a man riding it. He slowed as he reached the puddle I’d stopped and rested in.

  My socks! He saw them! The man on a four-wheeler got off and approached one of my discarded socks. I couldn’t tell who he was because of his helmet, but he was average-sized, if not a bit on the tall side. I didn’t recognize him from his build or his clothes: jeans and a black nylon jacket.

  But when he reached down and snatched up one of my socks, I saw the gold pinkie ring flashing on his finger.

  Arnie Rutherford!

  • Nineteen •

  I’d been on the right track all along! I knew he was a shady character. There was his past, of course, when he’d been busted for overpricing his home sales and pocketing the difference, but that wasn’t the only reason I was leery of him. He’d warned me away from asking questions and trying to dig up information about Butch Landow’s death. That spurred instant suspicion. Now here he was.

  But what was I supposed to do about him? Stay hidden in the bushes? He knew I—or someone—was close. He was holding my sock for Pete’s sake.

  Quack! I jumped about a foot in the air. Metamora Mike stood behind me, eyeing m
e with his beady little black eyes. Quack!

  “Go away!” I whispered, rather loudly, but hoping the hum of the idling four-wheeler would keep Arnie from hearing me. “I don’t have any treats!” I waved my arms at him, trying to shoo him away.

  “Mrs. Hayman,” Arnie said, “is that you?”

  I turned back around, cursing that darn duck under my breath.

  And I waved.

  Really, at that point, what else could I do?

  “Hello, Mr. Rutherford. What brings you out in this weather?”

  As if on queue, thunder rumbled overhead.

  “I was going to ask you the same. Do you need a ride somewhere?”

  Both of us avoided the real question: What are you doing here?

  Knowing it was foolish, I did what any irrational freshman college girl in Daytona on Spring Break would do—certainly not what a level-headed, forty-year-old woman would—and said, “I would like a ride if you’re offering.”

  Ben flashed before my eyes, scowling and asking me if I had a death wish.

  I shoved him aside. The man was afraid of the dark basement for cripes’ sake, I thought, trying to justify getting on a four-wheeler with a potential—okay, a probable—killer.

  Quickly, I gave myself reasons I was accepting his offer. 1) He’d never threatened me in any way, and B) I was wet and cold and tired and my lungs hurt. Thirdly, if I was ever going to get to the bottom of who killed Butch, I had to follow this lead, wherever it may … well, lead.

  Like a gentleman, Arnie handed me his helmet to use. I tugged it onto my head and sat astride the four-wheeler behind him. “Hang on,” he said. “I’ll go slow, but the seat’s slippery.”

  It was a bit awkward hanging on to a man I barely knew, but when the wheels dug in and the mud started flying, I got over it fast. We rounded the bend where Sue had run ahead. As soon as we caught up to her and I wasn’t alone with Arnie, I’d feel a million times better about this situation. But before too long, a major problem arose.

  A fork in the path.

  Arnie went left. I had no idea which direction Sue had gone. The odds were good—50/50 to be exact—that I wouldn’t be catching up with her at all.