Paddy Plays in Dead Mule Swamp

by Joan H. Young

  “I wonder if they can get a warrant on someone just for being DuWayne’s friend. I haven’t heard them mention Pablo. There’s always Larry Louama. No one knows where he’s living.”

  “Adele! How do you find out these things?”

  “I talked with his mother in the store yesterday. He hasn’t been home, but they’ve already been calling her because he hasn’t checked in with his parole officer either. She’s really tired of having her life disrupted because of the shenanigans that boy pulls. She and Marko are fine people. Larry just went off the rails somewhere.”

  “He’s probably not anywhere around here. He knows they’d look for him near his old home.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Adele, I need to go. I’ve got to figure out something to eat.”

  “Is that difficult?”

  “Well, I don’t have much in the house. I might need to run over to Bidwell’s for some veggies.”

  “Do you want company for a while? I could bring the food. You’ve got a grill don’t you?”

  I thought of the small tabletop one I’d purchased in May. “I have that little one I bought from you. And charcoal.”

  “That will be perfect. You get some coals going. Leave everything else to me.”

  What could I say? Adele was generous, but slightly lonely since her husband had died the previous year. I decided that spending the rest of the day with her could be fun.

  “All right,” I conceded with a laugh. “Come on out.”

  After we ate our fill of kielbasa in buns, broccoli salad, and ice cream, the rest of the day was spent in light pursuits. We chatted about things as insignificant as the colors of my walls or as important as Star and Sunny, and played “knick-knack-Paddy-WHACK” with Paddy. Adele wasn’t much of a walker, but we strolled some distance out and back on my trail at a leisurely pace. The only thing that kept us in mind of the unsolved murder was the Sheriff’s car parked in my driveway. The shift of watchers changed once during the afternoon. A cruiser pulled in the driveway; a deputy emerged, nodded to us and walked toward the grave site. In a few minutes, the one who had been on duty appeared, jockeyed the cars around so as not to block my access to the driveway, and drove away. We were so used to it, Paddy didn’t even wake up from his nap.

  Chapter 30

  One thing Adele and I did accomplish was to make some decisions about my painting project. We decided the screen porch should be teal and white, with bamboo flooring, and white wicker furniture, when I could afford it. That gave me something positive to work on, so first thing Monday morning I drove to Jouppi’s for paint. While I was in town I stopped at Volger’s for groceries, making sure I stocked up on enough food to last for at least a week.

  Justin was in the office, tapping away on a computer keyboard, and Adele was working the checkout lane. When I reached her with my full cart, she said, “I’ve been thinking about the person who left the footprints.”

  “Did you figure something out?” I asked. It seemed as though we’d worried this topic like a weathered bone.

  “He—I heard the prints were size twelve so let’s assume it’s a man—had to have known where the body was.”

  “Right. The police figured that out immediately. They hadn’t released the location.”

  “So, he was involved in the death somehow.”

  “Yes, nothing new there.”

  “But what did he want? There must have been something with or near the body he was looking for,” Adele insisted.

  “Maybe. He’d have to believe that the police hadn’t found it, whatever it was. Could there have been a clue that would incriminate him?”

  “That makes some sense. But it would have to be something that wouldn’t rot. Even her clothes were gone. I could see that much. So, it can’t be paper or something organic.”

  “Could be jewelry—maybe he lost a ring while burying her.”

  “That’s an idea.”

  My groceries were rung up, and I had bagged them as we talked. “I’ll keep thinking about it, but I’m off to do some painting now.”

  “Keep in touch,” Adele said. Her eyes were darkly inquisitive, like those of a predatory bird.

  After one more stop, to buy cucumbers, green beans and summer squash at Bidwell’s, I was glad to be done with the errands. Paddy was outside on his lead line, the food was put away, and I was ready to paint, which is how I spent the middle portion of the day.

  By two-thirty I had bright teal walls and white woodwork in the porch. I could picture the finished room with the white wicker and flowered cushions, but nothing frilly. I was thinking a bold print with both teal and whatever accent color I finally chose for the main room.

  Paddy had asked to come in earlier, and he had followed me around as I cleaned the brushes, and changed out of my painting clothes. He gave me his sad eye look.

  “You want a walk, don’t you?” I asked.

  “Walk” was one of his favorite words, and he began to dance around, his long tail thumping against a chair leg.

  “All right. Let’s go look at that old house again. It really must have been a nice place in its heyday. I should ask Cora if the family who lived there was important. I bet they were.”

  Once more we drove the Jeep to the west side of the railroad bridge, and crossed the black creosoted ties that smelled of tar even after a century. When we reached the east side, I patted my jeans pocket. The new cell phone was safe in its depths, but I wasn’t used to it yet, and was insecure about losing the technological gadget.

  The woods along the creek were lovely and cool. Once again, I noticed the narrow trail that threaded between the trees, away from the water. I thought there must be dozens of these simple trails through the woods, made by wildlife, or local inhabitants. This one looked interesting, but I decided not to follow it today.

  The section by the Thorpe River took about ten minutes to walk, and then we headed east from the dead end of the dirt road. There really wasn’t any shade since sun was still high, but at least the sun was over my shoulder and not in my eyes as we walked this direction. At first, I focused on the roadside plants, enjoying the daisies and Queen Anne’s lace. Occasional yellow patches of St. John’s wort broke the white expanse.

  As I approached the old house, but before I had decided whether I was going to just walk up to it and open the door, I saw a flicker of motion out of the corner of my eye. Just a bird—maybe nesting in the front porch, I thought. Then I saw it again. Someone was in the house. I was seeing a person in a white t-shirt passing back and forth in front of a window. I backed up a few steps, to hopefully be out of sight of that person, and thought a minute.

  I clipped Paddy on the leash to keep him close. No sense letting someone see him, either. I backed up a few more steps, and cut to my right into the edge of the woods that used to border the lawn of the old house. The lawn had grown up to brush and would have been difficult to push through, but the woods were more open. There was an old fence line, and I followed it carefully, trying to be quiet. After we’d penetrated the forest by just a few yards I could see the back of the house, and it was not deserted, as I would have expected. On a cement slab, outside what was probably the kitchen door, there were several new cardboard boxes, a couple of lawn chairs, a stack of plastic bucket lids, and an ashtray overflowing with butts.

  I wasn’t doing anything stupid this time. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  “This is Forest County 9-1-1. What is your emergency?” came a crisp voice.

  “This is Ana Raven, I’m on East South...” the connection broke. Great, maybe there wasn’t enough coverage here on the State Forest side of the river. I dialed again.

  “This is Forest County 9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

  “Ana Raven here. Please send someone...” the phone went dead again. Still holding the dog closely—thankfully he hadn’t started barking—I worked my way back toward the road. I was trying to remember the number for the Sheriff’s Department, b
ut it just wouldn’t come to me. All I could think of was the Cherry Hill police number, and as I reached the road again I quickly pushed the buttons for the exchange and 4-4-5-5. I could hear the number ringing when suddenly I was encircled from behind by strong arms and both of my hands opened involuntarily. Paddy yelped and pulled loose, and the phone fell into the dirt road.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “Who... Help!” The phone was still open. I struggled and tried to turn to see who had hold of me. All I could see were solid arms and hands, which were Caucasian. It wasn’t DuWayne, and it wasn’t Pablo. Paddy ran off a few steps and began to bark with a high, anxious voice. My twisting and kicking were succeeding in keeping the attacker somewhat off balance, but I couldn’t work myself free. Whoever had hold of me was large and strong. The two remaining bandages on my arm had rubbed off and the arm was bleeding, but it didn’t seem important at all. We circled in the roadway, and I saw a big foot come down firmly on my new cell phone. The man ground it against the sand and sparse gravel under his shoe, and I could only hope someone at the Cherry Hill Police Station had answered and heard me yelling before my new phone was crushed.

  Chapter 31

  “Go to the car, Paddy!” I was trying hard to take a deep breath and make my voice as stern as possible, but my ribs were being pressed against my lungs and I couldn’t speak as loudly as I wanted. The dog ran off a short way and then hesitated. He looked as if he wanted to help me, but he didn’t have a vicious bone in his body, and probably thought this was some new game.

  However, Paddy didn’t like what he saw. He turned and walked slowly toward us, his eyes fixed on a point over my shoulder. His lip curled as if he were going to growl.

  “No, Paddy. Go to the car!” Paddy circled with indecision.

  The man lunged, trying to step on the end of Paddy’s leash, which put him slightly off balance. I managed to dig an elbow into his ribs, and he grunted. He couldn’t quite reach the dancing leash.

  “Go! Go to the car!” Paddy finally got the message and began to run westward down the road as fast as he could, the leash trailing behind him. I prayed it wouldn’t catch on anything.

  The man now gave me his undivided attention, and I had to admit there wasn’t going to be any physical contest. The man was much stronger than I. All I could hope for was to delay whatever he had in mind, in hopes that Tracy would figure out where I was and that I needed help. He began to drag me toward the house. Apparently, he wasn’t going to worry about covering tracks any longer, as he pulled me through the previously unbroken weeds. I dug in my heels and tried to swing my legs from side to side to make as visible a trail as possible. I didn’t waste any effort in yelling; I was pretty sure no one who might help me was close enough to hear.

  When we got to the house I was physically lifted and heaved onto the porch. The front door was opened by someone from the inside. Just for a moment I thought I might still get away, and stumbled to my right, away from the dark opening. In that moment, I saw the man who had grabbed me. He was tall and blond with bulging muscles. It was no one I knew. His bulk did not affect his speed, and with no difficulty at all he caught my arm and growled, “Not so fast, lady. You aren’t going anywhere.”

  My logic was failing me, and I yelled, “Help! Anybody, help!”

  The blond man smacked his other large hand over my mouth. “Give it up.” He forced me inside the old house, and the door was slammed shut.

  Despite it being bright outside, this room faced north and the interior was dim enough that my eyes needed a few minutes to adjust. Before I could see much of anything, my hands were tied behind my back with a bandana, and then some twine was produced. I was pushed into a filthy, broken, overstuffed chair. The blond man held my shoulders against the padded seat back from behind, and another man knelt in front of me and tied my ankles to the stubby legs of the chair. The position was awkward, and the twine bit into my ankles, even through my socks. When this man unbent from his task I looked into his face. It was Pablo Ybarra.

  Behind him, standing and facing me were the blond man, and Pablo’s sister. “Hello, Juanita,” I began. “And, I’m guessing you must be Larry Louama. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.” I couldn’t believe they were too dumb to catch my sarcasm, but they didn’t react to it. No one said the big man wasn’t Larry, so I assumed I was right.

  “Why couldn’t you just mind your own business?” Juanita asked. She was no longer the polite, saleswoman who had helped me out of the ditch. She practically spat the words at me.

  “You do not want to make my sister angry,” Pablo said in a quiet, steely tone.

  “Did you really stop to help me the other day?” I asked Juanita. “Or were you part of the plan to knock me off the road? Maybe you were supposed to find out if I’d been hurt badly enough to keep me from walking down this road. Who owns that black truck, Pablo or DuWayne?”

  “You are too smart for your own good.” She looked at the men, but didn’t answer my questions. “What are we going to do with her? You just had to drag her in here, so now she’s seen way too much.”

  I looked around, wondering what I was supposed to have seen, besides these three people. All I saw was a row of six five-gallon buckets lined up against one of the moldy, stained walls. My best hope was to stall for time. I turned to Larry. “I suppose this is where you’ve been living, since no one could find you. I guess you came in by the back door all the time. I know! That friend Juanita claimed to have on Mulberry Hill is just a good place to park, and then you can follow some forgotten trail down here without using the front at all.”

  Larry glanced at Juanita. “She really is mouthy. I broke her cell phone before she could get anyone, but I don’t like it that the dog got away. What if he’s smart enough to bring someone back? Let’s shut her up and get out of here.”

  I wasn’t sure if that meant they just planned to gag me, or if the “shutting up” was to be a more permanent kind.

  Juanita nodded toward the pails.

  “It will take us three trips to carry these up the hill, plus the stuff on the kitchen porch.” Pablo complained. “That will take too long. Someone’s bound to miss her.”

  “Go get the truck,” Juanita said. We’ll have to take a chance to get out of here quick. We can take her along and deal with her later.” It looked as if Juanita was in charge here.

  I no longer had any doubts about what they had in mind for me. The bandana around my wrists was wrapped tightly, but a knot in folded fabric just couldn’t be pulled taut. I had been working on it with my fingers the whole time we were talking. It was now loosened, and my hands were free, but I kept them behind me. The twine around my ankles was impossible to deal with in secret, and I needed the odds to be more in my favor.

  Pablo headed toward the back of the house, presumably to get the truck. Larry lifted two buckets. He started for the front door.

  “Put them on the kitchen porch,” Juanita ordered. “Don’t advertise.”

  Larry changed directions and headed for the back of the house. The buckets had no lids, and as he carried them past me, I saw they contained plastic wrapped packages of something white. It looked as if the drug business was doing fine. I recalled how Juanita had described her career: “selling things to people with lots of money.” In a minute, Larry was back and picked up two more of the pails. He also took those out the back door—I heard it open—and returned for the final two.

  “Wait a minute.” I said. “I’d really like to know what happened to Angelica, and I think you three know the answer to that question.”

  Larry laughed, but there was no humor in his tone. “Ask her,” he said, nodding his head at Juanita, and continued to the kitchen. The outer door banged again. I was alone in the room with Juanita, who had moved close, as if to guard me. I knew I’d never have better odds, although I had no idea how I could overcome her and Larry, too.

  It was difficult to come up out of the overstuffed chair quickly, but I had surprise on m
y side, and I lurched upward and forward, grabbing for Juanita’s neck. She leaned backward, but I succeeded in knocking her off balance. She fell and hit her head on the floor, and I fell sideways against the arm of the chair. My tied legs prevented me from reaching her. I hoped she was unconscious, but the blow hadn’t been hard enough, and before I could get straightened up myself, she was on her hands and knees, facing me.

  As she rose, she pulled a knife from a sheath in her boot.

  Chapter 32

  Several things happened all at once. I heard Larry call from the back porch, “What’s going on in there?” and the back door banged against the wall. Juanita straightened up, and started toward me with the knife extended. Her eyes were dark pits in her face, and she pulled her lips away from her teeth.

  “You nosy old bitch,” she snarled.

  Almost simultaneously, the front door opened, and DuWayne rushed in. I knew I was completely out of luck now. But instead of hurrying to restrain me, he tackled Juanita from behind, and threw her to the floor. She lay still; I thought she had hit her head again. The knife clattered off just out of my reach.

  Larry burst into the room from the kitchen, and squared off with DuWayne. By this time, I had gotten my feet back under me, and concentrated on shuffling awkwardly, an inch at a time, in the direction of the knife, dragging the chair with me. I was too busy to watch what the men were doing, but they crashed to the floor together and the knife bounced toward me. The twine held me so tight I couldn’t lean forward far enough to kneel, but after two more small steps I was able to lean over and reach the knife.

  I glanced up and was glad to see that DuWayne was on top of Larry, pounding him in the face. Using the knife, I slit the twine, and freed myself from the awkward bonds.