He glanced around the cab, assessing the damage. The windshield was a mass of cracks and partially broken out by the hardened ears of corn. His driver’s side window was knocked out.
Corn stalks had jammed through the window opening. He slowly opened his door, pushing the stalks out of the way. He stepped out of the truck and into the muddy field. His cowboy boots sank several inches into the mud. “Damn, not my new boots. Anything else gonna happen?” he asked ruefully.
He stepped around the pickup, looking for further damage. The right passenger door was caved in from where it hit the utility pole. He could also see numerous dents caused by the hard corn. When he pulled a corn plant out of his running board, he noticed the knuckles on his hands were bleeding. He touched his forehead. It was bleeding too. He reached up to wipe away the blood and said, “Just great! When will this bad luck stop?”
A teenager ran down the leveled corn row. “Stevie?” he asked, surprised. “Hey, bro, are you all right?”
“Jerry, what the hell are you doin’ out this way — this time of night — on a school night? Were you drivin’?”
“No, ain’t my car. My buddy, Joe was drivin’.”
“Any one hurt?”
“No, why? You’re the one that went off the road. Joe’s piece of junk is fine. I ran back to see if you got hurt.”
“Did ya know it was me?”
“No, man,” Jerry said awkwardly, then changed the subject. “Your head’s bleedin’.”
Stevie took off his flannel shirt, balled it up, and held it against the wound. “Can you boys give me a lift home? Truck ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“Sure, follow me.”
“I’ll catch up with ya. Gotta lock my toolbox.”
“Hate to tell ya this, but I think your truck is totaled.”
“Yeah, but my tools are in the back. Can’t risk them being stolen.”
“Have it your way,” Jerry said, heading back to his friends.
Stevie climbed in the back of the pickup and made a path through the corn stalks to check the toolbox. Before he locked it, he grabbed a flashlight, then he headed to the road.
Jerry was standing on the passenger side with the door open. “I need to make room for ya.”
It was then that Stevie noticed the backseat was full of pentagrams crudely fashioned from wood twigs. “What the hell are these?”
“Oh, somethin’,” Jerry said uneasily. “I’ll explain later.”
The driver yelled out, “Hurry up, man. Either get in or I’m takin’ off.”
“Give me a second, Joe,” Jerry said, irritated. “This is my brother. And, ya better talk nice to him because he don’t take shit from nobody.”
Stevie gave Jerry a disapproving look. “Watch your mouth.”
Joe said, “Sorry, didn’t know. Take your time. I love being out here so you two can have a reunion.”
The teenager on the front passenger seat rolled his window down and cackled nervously. He held a baseball bat against his shoulder.
Jerry swept the pentagrams to the side and climbed in the back seat.
Stevie said to the passenger, “Hey, Mr. Giggles, you git in the back seat. I ain’t ridin’ in the back.”
Jerry piped in. “That’s Chris.”
“Please to meet you, Chris. Get in the back,” Stevie said in a tough voice.
The teenager muttered something under his breath and complied.
Stevie got in. “Let’s roll.”
Joe put the Nova in gear and took off at a slow speed.
Stevie said, “Excuse me but you can do better than that. I’ve got to get home.”
“What’s the hurry?” Jerry asked.
“Salina might be in trouble.”
Jerry yelled, “Step on it, Joe.”
“No problemo,” Joe said, speeding up.
“Not too fast. The sheriff is really workin’ these parts since Doc Goodwin got shot.”
“Me ain’t stupid,” Chris mouthed off.
Stevie said, “Salina told me some yahoos were vandalizing Lizzie Howe’s property?”
“That ain’t vandalizin’,” Joe said.
“Tell that to the law when they catch ya,” Stevie offered.
Jerry said, “We were just messin’ with Dad.”
“Messin’ with Dad? I don’t think you’ve caught on. Our dad doesn’t do comedy.”
“He’s been datin’ that woman. We’ve been puttin’ that stuff on her gate because everybody in town says she’s a witch.”
Joe slapped his knee and laughed. “Ain’t that funny?”
Stevie advised. “Joe, watch the road,” and then “Like I said, the law is really watchin’ that place, so don’t put any more of those things back there. And give up smashing mailboxes. Trust me, you guys wouldn’t have much fun in juvie.”
“Where?” Chris asked stupidly.
“Juvenile detention.”
“We’ll stop,” Jerry said.
Chris mumbled, “Like hell.”
Chapter Twelve
Salina lay nestled under a summer-weight blanket with the covers drawn over her head. Moments before she was awakened by the sound of someone turning the key in the front door lock and walking in. The Foursquare was old and the floorboards creaked when someone walked over them. When the front door closed, she assumed it was her dad returning from his service call.
It was a school night, so she went to her room early, finished her homework, then put on her pajamas. At eight-thirty, she’d gone to bed and was reading a Nancy Drew novel when her dad popped his head in and said someone out in the country had lost power in the storm. He’d be gone for several hours and said for her not to worry. She’d smiled and commented that Wolfy Joe would take care of her, for him not to worry. He’d grinned and said he’d make sure the locks on the exterior doors were good and locked. She’d asked him to not close her bedroom door all the way, and to leave the hallway light on.
“Got it, baby cake,” he’d winked. “See ya in the mornin’.”
Salina startled when Wolfy Joe jumped on her back, frantically pawing the covers off.
“Quit it, punk,” she said sleepily.
The gray cat growled deep in his throat.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, sitting up and looking around the room.
Wolfy Joe sprang off the bed and crept slowly to the open bedroom door.
A woman’s voice sounded from the first floor. She was talking to someone. “She’s probably upstairs in bed.”
Salina was alarmed when she recognized the voice. She climbed out of bed, walked to the door, and called out. “Big Mama? What are you doing here?”
Big Mama stood at the foot of the stairs. “Sweetie, come to grandma. I need to talk to you.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about.”
Salina stood motionless and refused to budge. She was very wise for her thirteen years. Having developed a keen sense of when something wasn’t right, from the years she spent with her drug-abusing mother, she had no intention of going downstairs to her grandmother. “I want my Dad,” she demanded.
“Darlin’ girl,” Big Mama said in a sugary, sweet voice. “Your Daddy found out I was in town, so he called to ask me to come over because you were here by yourself.”
Salina moved to the staircase railing and leaned over. “No, he didn’t,” she sassed. “How did you get in? Who’s with you?”
“I little less lip from you, Salina, would be appreciated. It’s your Uncle Mike,” the man said gruffly. “Do what Big Mama said. Get dressed and come down here.”
Uncle Mike, Salina thought. Mom’s brother who hates cats. She didn’t like Uncle Mike at all. “Give me a minute to change. Okay?” she changed her tone of voice to one of cooperation.
“Hurry up. Don’t make me have to come up there and git you,” Uncle Mike threatened.
“Big Mama is tired. Do what he says, sweetie.”
Salina bolted into her room, trailed by a very frigh
tened cat. “Mir-whoa,” Wolfy Joe cried.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said, patting his head.
She slipped on her house slippers and threw on her housecoat. Then she took her cell phone off the charger and thrust it into her pocket.
Wolfy Joe threw himself against her legs and looked up, eager for some kind of sign about what he was supposed to do. Salina whispered, “We’re taking the back stairs to KC’s house.” Picking up the cat, she placed him over her shoulder. Wolfy collapsed against her, his body quivered. “Hang on. Be quiet . . . very quiet.”
Lightly stepping down the back stairs, Salina was terrified to find the kitchen door standing wide open. She knew her dad hadn’t left it that way. Something about the door standing open — at night — made her apprehensive. It was very dark in the kitchen. She wanted to switch on the overhead light so she could see but thought that would be a dead giveaway that she was fleeing out the back.
She tip-toed to the door, but the old floorboards squeaked with each step. Just when she was ready to walk out the door, Uncle Mike snatched her arm and dragged her back. Salina dropped Wolfy, and the frightened cat ran outside.
“Wolfy, come back,” she cried.
Uncle Mike held on to her arm. Salina struggled. “Let me go. My cat. I’ve got to get my cat.”
Big Mama shuffled into the kitchen. “Mike! Don’t hurt her,” she shouted.
Chapter Thirteen
Scout and Abra stood on the mansion’s turret windowsill, gazing intently at the dark blue van parked in front of the Foursquare. Their ears swiveled from back to front, in an inquisitive motion. Scout’s pupils dilated to large black dots, and she sprang down, followed by Abra. They arched their backs and began their death dance, swaying back and forth, hopping up and down. Scout shrieked, “Mir-waugh, waugh, waugh.” Abra screeched in a shrill, high-pitched tone.
Jake was upstairs lying on the tall Renaissance bed. He was fully dressed. His plan was to take a short nap and get up at midnight to wait for Daryl, but he was so tired that as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.
“What is it?” he asked, abruptly waking up. “What’s wrong?”
“Mir-waugh, waugh, waugh,” Scout cried again downstairs, this time at the foot of the stairs.
Jake slid off the bed, turned the overhead light on and keyed in the combination to the gun safe. Removing his Glock, he tucked it in the back of his jeans and dashed down the stairs three at a time until he landed in the atrium. Scout and Abra led him to the turret window.
Through an opening in the heavy velvet curtains, he could see an older woman and a younger man walking down the Foursquare steps. The man carried something. He couldn’t see what it was. He spotted the blue van — a vehicle he hadn’t seen before, and also noted that Stevie’s truck was gone.
“This can’t be good,” he said to the Siamese.
“Ma-waugh,” Scout agreed.
Jake opened the front door and ran outside. “Hey,” he yelled in the direction of the Foursquare, at the couple heading to their van. “What are you doing?” Salina was struggling to be put down.
“Jake,” Salina yelled. “Help me.”
Jake pointed his Glock at the man carrying Salina. “Put her down,” he commanded.
The man continued walking to the van.
“Who the hell are you?” the woman demanded.
“Put her down, now!” he shouted at the man.
The man totally ignored Jake’s threat and continued carrying Salina to the van. Salina struggled and elbowed her uncle in the stomach.
“I’ll break your neck for that,” Uncle Mike yelled, losing his grip. He dropped Salina on the grass. She quickly got up and ran over to Jake.
With his free arm, Jake pulled her behind him. “Stay there,” he whispered.
“Salina, get back here right now,” the woman scolded.
Still aiming the Glock at the couple, “You’ve got two seconds to explain what’s going on before I call the police.”
“Mike, get in the van and wait for me.”
Mike scowled, then moved toward the driver’s side of the van.
Jake warned, “Hey, you Mike, get back here. Stand next to the woman.”
Mike reluctantly obliged and walked back.
“I can explain,” the woman said, starting to walk over to Jake.
“Stay where you are,” he commanded.
She stopped. “I’m just reaching in my purse to get a document. Don’t shoot me.”
Jake didn’t trust her. He was ready to shoot.
Salina tapped Jake on the back. “She’s my grandma.”
“What?” Jake asked, surprised.
“It’s true,” the woman said. “I’m Salina’s grandmother. My name is Delores Culpepper.” She brought out a piece of paper. “I have a written court order that states that if Salina’s father dies, I have custody of my grandchild,” she said.
Salina began to sob. “No, it’s not true. My dad’s not dead. She’s lying.”
Jake stated skeptically, “Stevie Sanders is not dead.”
“Yes, he is. I received a call from his father that he’s been in a fatal truck accident and died on way to the hospital. Here’s the court document,” she said, walking over.
Jake didn’t believe her. He took the single piece of paper and tried to read it in the dim light of the outside yard light. The first thing he noticed was that the document didn’t look anything like the official custody order Katherine and he had signed at the courthouse. There wasn’t an embossed stamp of the state of Indiana on it, or a case number, or even a signature of a judge or clerk.
A beat-up Nova, driven by a teenager, sped up and parked behind the van. Stevie flew out of the passenger seat, with three rowdy teenagers getting out also.
“What’s going on?” Stevie asked, still holding his flannel shirt over his wound.
Delores looked shocked. “What are you doing here? We thought you were dead.”
“Do I look dead?” Stevie asked, wiping the blood from his forehead wound away from his eyes. “Big Mama, explain what you’re doing here?”
Salina ran over to Stevie and hugged him. “Daddy, you’re bleeding.”
“I’m gonna be fine, baby cake. I had an accident but I’ll live another day.” Stevie stroked Salina’s hair.
“They got in the house and tried to take me,” she sobbed.
“You broke into my damn house?” Stevie yelled.
“The door was unlocked so we just went in.”
“That’s a damn lie. I’d never leave the door unlocked.”
Big Mama gave a pinched-face look.
Stevie squeezed Salina’s shoulders. “Let me talk to Big Mama. Please, go back into the house. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I can’t. Wolfy Joe got out.”
Torn between the current situation and the unexpected trials of being a father, Stevie said, “Go look for him, but don’t go outside the back yard.”
“We’ll help,” Jerry said, bounding after his cousin. Joe went as well, but Chris stayed behind. In the excitement of opening the car doors, a pentagram made of twigs fell out and landed in the drainage ditch. Chris fumbled to retrieve it, and quickly threw it on the back seat. Jake noticed it instantly, but was too busy with other things to comment.
“Wolfy! Wolfy Joe,” Salina called.
“Here, Kitty Kitty,” Jerry said.
“He doesn’t like to be called kitty,” Salina corrected.
Jake tucked his Glock back into his jeans. “Stevie, she says she has a court order —”
“We’ll talk about this another time,” Big Mama said, attempting to yank the document out of Jake’s hands. Jake handed it to Stevie.
“No, we won’t,” Stevie declared, indignantly.
“That document belongs to me,” Big Mama protested. “Give it to me.”
“Not anymore,” Stevie answered, stuffing it in his pocket. “Now get off my property and don’t come back. You’ll never hav
e custody of my daughter. You see this gentleman standing right there? Jake and his wife are the standby guardians for Salina if something happens to me.”
“No need to get your feathers ruffled. We were just leaving,” the woman said. She strode to the van. Mike opened the door for her and waited until she got in. He then got behind the wheel and peeled out, burning rubber as he sped up Lincoln Street.
Stevie said to Jake, “Hey, man, thanks. I’m sorry you had to be a party to this.”
“My cats woke me up, or else Delores and Mike might have taken her. Stevie, you need a restraining order against them. That custody document she handed me is a fake. Show it to Chief London as soon as you can.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Stevie said, not wanting to get the law involved.
Jake realized that Stevie was still holding a flannel shirt to his head. “You’re pretty banged up. Want me to take you to the hospital?” he offered.
“No, I’m good. I’ll patch it up myself as soon as I get in my house. Need to find my daughter first. Salina!” he called.
“What happened to you?” Jake inquired, concerned.
“I wrecked my truck. My insurance rate is going to triple.”
“Who are those guys?” Jake asked, referring to the teenagers.
“My younger brother, Jerry, and his buddies. I nearly crashed into them. I veered to avoid a wreck and drove into a cornfield.”
“That’s not good.”
“Gonna have to have my truck towed in the morning. Too late to take care of it tonight.”
Salina came around the corner of the house with a worried look on her face. “I can’t find him.”
Jerry added, “Didn’t see hide nor hair of the cat.”
Stevie said, “Thanks for lookin’. You boys go home now. It’s late.”
The teenagers walked to the Nova and got in. Jerry stayed behind. He shuffled his feet and looked worried.
“What’s goin’ on?” Stevie asked.
“Can I talk to ya alone.”
“Sure,” Stevie said, walking over. “What’s up?”
“Dad called and said that some crazy guy in a red truck had done somethin’ to him, and asked that we try and run him off the road. I swear I didn’t know it was you.”
The Cats that Broke the Spell (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 8) Page 9
