Dead in the Water

by Denise Swanson

  “And they get away with it?” Carson asked. “You all need to bring in the Texas Rangers to clear them out of their hidey-holes.”

  “Most of the time, they’re fairly harmless.” Skye shrugged. “And I’m working on changing the next generation. Think of them as local color.”

  “Wally allows you to deal with these ‘fairly harmless’ people?”

  “Allows?” Skye narrowed her eyes. “I’m not his child or his dog.”

  “Now don’t go squatting on your spurs.” Carson patted her knee. “I just can’t see my son being happy with his wife walking into a dangerous situation.”

  “He may not be thrilled, but he understands that I’m a good psychologist and that I’m often the best person for the situation.”

  “Hmm.” Carson’s lips formed a straight line. “You remind me a lot of my wife. She always thought she could save the world. She’s been gone for well over twenty years and I still miss her every day.”

  “I’m sorry you lost her so young.” Skye squeezed his arm. “And I’m flattered you think that I’m like her.”

  As Carson and Skye neared the Red Ragger colony, it dawned on her that the Dooziers had been in the tornadoes’ pathway, too. Although, with the already dilapidated condition of the homes in their area, it would be hard to tell if they’d been hit by a twister or not.

  After carefully guiding the massive Hummer over a narrow plank bridge, Carson paused at the crossroad and said, “So if I turn left, we’ll drive past summer cottages and retirement homes; however, if we go right, we enter the heart of Red Ragger country?”

  “Yep.” Skye smiled. “And never the twain shall meet. For the first couple of years, the Chicago people and the Red Raggers tested each other like a kid with a new stepparent. Eventually, they just ignored one another. Then, a while back, shots were exchanged and the peace treaty was breached, but it turned out to be paintballs rather than bullets and the agreement was renegotiated without bloodshed.” She grimaced. “Although I ended up painted orange.”

  “Oookay.” Carson paused, then asked, “I don’t suppose Wally took pictures.”

  “We wouldn’t be having this baby if he had.” Skye stared at her father-in-law. “Because his equipment to reproduce wouldn’t be in working order.”

  “I love a feisty woman.” Carson grinned and took the left on Cattail Path. “No wonder Wally adores you.”

  As they drove down the road, Skye saw a series of hand-painted placards.

  If UR sceered. Don’t be afeared. Grab a gun. And have some fun.

  She shook her head. The Burma-Shave sign people were probably rolling in their graves.

  A few seconds later, Skye and Carson arrived at the Dooziers. Earl and Glenda’s lot was shaped roughly like a scalene triangle, with the longest side resting along the riverbank and the shortest adjacent to the road. From the street, Carson and Skye could see only the front of the house, and with that limited vantage point, the sole evidence of anything unusual was the large piece of cardboard taped between two wooden boards stuck in the yard.

  Bright-red lettering invited people to:

  Come on back. Put your money toward a good cause while you learn to defend yourself from the wild gangs invading Scumble River.

  Well, shoot! No wonder Roy had been confused.

  Still, Skye was impressed that unlike the signs leading here, this one had every word correct. Earl must have had his daughter Bambi make it. She was the only one of his brood who was doing well enough in school to manage perfect spelling.

  Carson parked in the empty driveway and helped Skye down from the Hummer. It was hard to tell for sure, but if Skye had to bet, she’d wager that none of the recent tornadoes were to blame for the condition of the Dooziers’ property. Although the ground in front of the run-down shack was uneven and covered with weeds, discarded toys, and rocks, it always looked like that. As for the skeletons of rusted-out pickups and the husks of ancient appliances adding to the obstacle course, they had been there as long as Skye could remember.

  Once she and Carson had gingerly picked their way to the fenced-off backyard, they found another sign on the gate that read:

  Stun Guns for sale. Lessons extra. Money will go to needy Scumble River families.

  Guns $40 Lesson $10

  “Didn’t you say that Zeke Lyons was killed with a stun gun?” Carson asked.

  “Of some sort,” Skye muttered, distracted, then realized what her father-in-law was implying and added, “But I’m sure this is a coincidence. The Dooziers would just use a shotgun if they wanted him dead.”

  Carson’s expression was skeptical. “If you say so. Are stun guns legal in Illinois?”

  “You need a Firearm Owner’s Identification card for one,” Skye answered. “I had to get my FOID card before I could get one.”

  Carson pursed his lips. “So how can this Doozier guy be selling them?”

  “More than the legality of the sales, the question that really concerns me is how he got a supply to sell so fast.” Skye peered anxiously over the chain-link fence, squinting in the sunlight.

  Several feet back, near where the yard merged into the wooded area, a folding table with crooked legs had what looked like a pyramid of disposable cameras piled in the center. Sitting with his cowboy-clad feet propped up on the table’s surface was a skinny, densely tattooed man wearing a pair of filthy running shorts, a torn tank top, and a huge cowboy hat that he had pulled low over his eyes. Empty beer cans and snack food wrappers were strewn next to his lawn chair.

  Skye blinked, then leaned toward Carson and lowered her voice. “What’s with all the cameras? Do you think Earl is providing a photo opportunity? He snaps your picture as you zap someone with a stun gun?”

  “Nope.” Carson’s expression was almost admiring. “I’ll bet you that the cameras are the stun guns.” He shook his head. “I read a how-to article in one of the survivalist magazines. A disposable camera is pretty easy to convert. All you need are a few simple tools, some electrical wire, metal screws, and bonding glue.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Uh-huh. You shoot it by rotating the film-advance knob.”

  “Terrific. Who knew Earl could follow directions?” Skye wrinkled her forehead. The ME had reported that the marks on Zeke’s chest didn’t match any known devices. Maybe because the gadget wasn’t one that had been professionally manufactured. She was still sure the Dooziers hadn’t killed Zeke, but how about one of their customers? “We need to confiscate those homemade stun guns. There is no way on earth that those things are safe.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Carson asked, glancing uneasily at Earl.

  “Nope.” Skye followed her father-in-law’s gaze. It was never a good idea to startle a Doozier. Was he sleeping or passed out? Did it matter?

  The gate was unlocked, and as she stepped over the metal threshold, she noisily cleared her throat and said, “Earl, are you awake?”

  An earsplitting snore was the Doozier’s only reply.

  “Earl?” Skye inched closer and raised her voice. “Wake up, Earl.”

  Carson stuck to Skye’s side, one hand resting on the butt of his gun and the other gripping her elbow. Clearly, he intended to thrust her behind him if Earl made any kind of threatening move.

  Although Earl never stirred, the dogs penned nearby barked and bared their teeth at Skye and Carson. Trying to break free, the hounds jumped against the steel mesh of their cage, bouncing off the fencing like water on a hot pan.

  Giving the furious animals a wide berth, Skye crept toward Earl, stopped just out of stun gun range, and shouted, “Earl!”

  The Doozier jumped and his chair went over backward, collapsing around him in a tangle of plastic webbing and bent aluminum. As he fought to free himself, his cowboy hat slid farther down his face, totally obscuring his view.

  Although blinded by the
hat, he leaped to his feet and waved a camera around. “Get back. I’ll shoot iffen you’re here tryin’ to rob me.”

  “It’s Skye, Earl.” She took a step closer, but then quickly moved downwind. His body odor was at an all-time high and her stomach made its displeasure known. Earl must have used the tornado as an excuse to delay bathing even longer than usual. “Chief Boyd’s father and I are here to talk to you about your fund-raiser.”

  Earl finally pried off his cowboy hat and scowled. “Miz Skye, you shouldn’t be walking around here in your condition.” He glanced at her stomach. “I can’t believe you’re still knocked up. Aren’t you pret’ near ready to pop out that kid?”

  “It’ll be a while yet.” She sighed, then said, “Sorry for waking you, Earl.”

  “That’s okay, Miz Skye.” His wide smile revealed several blackened stumps and missing teeth. “Nice to meetcha, Mr. Boyd.” He loped toward Carson.

  As the men shook hands, Skye noticed her father-in-law’s nose twitching and his eyes watering. She hid her smile. Doubtlessly, Earl smelled worse than the cow patties scattered throughout the pastures of Carson’s ranch.

  Once the formalities were over, Earl asked, “What can I do you for?”

  “Sergeant Quirk saw your television interview and was confused as to the details of your fund-raiser.” She gestured toward the contents of the table. “Are you aware of the legalities in owning a stun gun? People need to have a FOID card.” She frowned. “And I’m not even entirely sure it’s legal to sell them here.”

  “We is in a state of emergency.” Earl put his hand over his heart. “The anus is on all of us to do our part. I’m willin’ to put myself at risk of arrest to help protect my neighbors.”

  Carson’s brows crawled up to his hairline. “Anus?”

  “Onus,” Skye translated, then turned to Earl and asked, “How did you get ahold of this many disposable cameras so fast?” Skye counted under her breath. “You’ve got what, forty? Fifty?”

  “Every mornin’ is the dawn of a new error.” Earl hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistband of his nylon shorts. “I been plannin’ for an emergency for a long time.”

  “Are those things safe?” Skye gave up preaching about the law. “Did you test them?”

  “Of course.” Earl stared at the ground. “And they worked fine.”

  “Oh?” Skye didn’t trust him for a second. “Tell me about it.”

  “You promise not to say nothin’ to Glenda?” Earl looked over his shoulder.

  “You have my word,” Skye vowed. It wasn’t as if she and Earl’s wife got together for tea…or even a nice cocktail at the bowling alley.

  “Good.” Earl’s grin was sheepish. “I told her I didn’t know nothin’ about the burn spot on the front of the microwave and she’s madder than a wet hen about it since she just bought the thing.”

  “Go on.” Skye shuddered, thinking of Glenda’s reaction if she found out.

  “Anyways, after that, I had Junior read me the directions again and I made a few tweaks.”

  “Right.” Skye rolled her eyes. “If at first you don’t succeed—”

  “Put in new batteries.” Earl scratched his crotch. “Anyways, I figured I needed to try it out on something live.” He tugged at his greasy, brown ponytail. “You know, something that was breedin’.”

  “What?” Skye clutched her belly, then with a huge sigh of relief realized he meant breathing.

  “Anyways, I grabbed—”

  “You didn’t use one of the kids?” Skye’s mind raced, thinking she’d have to call the Department of Children and Family Services if he’d shock one of his offspring. And wouldn’t that be a real mess?

  “Nah.” The sunshine highlighted the cereal-bowl-sized bald spot on Earl’s head. “Now days, they all run too fast for me to catch ’em.”

  “So who did you try it on?” Skye and Carson exchanged a worried glance.

  “I considered one of the dogs,” Earl admitted, reaching into a cooler and coming out with a dripping can of beer. “But they didn’t do anything to deserve bein’ zapped, so I didn’t.”

  “That was real fair of you.” Skye inhaled sharply, relieved she wouldn’t have to call the ASPCA either.

  “Glenda said I ought to try it on MeMa.” Earl scratched his nose. “My sweet ums ain’t ever forgiven her for try’n’ to talk me outta gettin’ hitched. The day of the weddin’, MeMa told me I should just live with her for the rest of my life and forgit about gettin’ married.”

  The infamous MeMa was the clan matriarch and Earl’s grandmother, or maybe great-grandmother; Skye had never quite untangled the Dooziers’ twisted family tree.

  “Did you consider it?” Carson asked.

  “Nah.” Earl burped. “Glenda might not a been the best-lookin’ girl at the party, but likes I always says: beauty is only a light switch away.” He glanced uneasily over his shoulder. “But that’s just between the three of us.”

  Skye opened her mouth to respond, then paused. There was something about what Earl had been saying about MeMa that nudged an idea deep in her brain.

  When it failed to emerge, she said, “So you never did test it on a human.”

  “I didn’t say that.” A hangdog expression stole over Earl’s face. “Accordin’ to the directions, a one-second burst would just shock and confuse ya, so I—”

  “You decided to use it on yourself,” Skye guessed. “What happened?”

  “I’m pret’ damn sure the Incredible Hulk grabbed me by the nape of the neck and slammed me into the wall. Again and again.” Earl popped the top on his beer and chugged it. “I woke up drenched in piss and I couldn’t find my balls for a couple hours after that. My face was numb, I was drooling worsen the hound dog, plus my hair was smokin’.” He finished his beer and tossed the can on the ground. “And the recliner that I was sittin’ on is still missing.”

  Carson, who had been silent, stepped forward, and said, “Earl, you see why you can’t sell those things.”

  “I already sold a couple.” Earl expression was stubborn.

  “Who to?” Skye asked excitedly. Maybe one of Earl’s customers was Zeke’s killer.

  “How would I know?” Earl sneered. “Does you think I take credit cards?”

  “Were they from around here? What did they look like?” Skye asked, hoping she’d recognize the person from Earl’s description.

  “One was a fat, white dude and the other was a skinny, black woman.” Earl sucked his teeth. “I ain’t ever seen either of ’em before.”

  “Shoot!” Skye’s shoulders slumped. So much for a clue to the murder. It wasn’t as if Scumble River had a police artist. Maybe they could get one to come in from the state police.

  Carson gave her a brief hug, then turned to Earl and said, “Well, you can’t sell the rest of those stun guns. They aren’t safe.”

  “But I invested a lot of money in them,” Earl whined.

  “How much?” Carson asked.

  Before Skye could stop him, he reached for his wallet. Then as he pulled his billfold from his pocket, she heard a high-pitched cackle that reminded her of someone who had been sucking on helium balloons. She didn’t have to turn around to know that Glenda Doozier had appeared out of nowhere like the Wicked Witch flying in on her broomstick.

  From her bright-yellow, stiletto-clad feet to her bottle-blond hair, she was the embodiment of an ideal Red Ragger woman, but all Skye could think of was—how much had Glenda heard? And how much was this mess going to end up costing Carson?

  Earl rushed over to his wife. “Baby doll, look who’s here, Miz Skye and Chief Boyd’s daddy.”

  Glenda ignored Skye, turned to Carson, and poked him with her inch-long, fire-engine red, fake fingernail. “We spent four hundert dollars on the cameras alone. Plus all the extra doodads and our time and labor, we couldn’t take less than a thousand for �
��em.”

  “I’ll give you two hundred.” Carson rubbed the spot on his shoulder where she had jabbed him. “Cash money right now.”

  “You ain’t cheatin’ us out of our earnings.” Glenda crossed her arms, shoving her considerable bosom nearly out of the neon-green tank top she wore.

  Skye stepped out of fingernail range. “I thought you were donating the profits.”

  Glenda rounded on Skye. “You, you know-it-all, stuck-up Goody Two-Shoes, stay outta this or that baby will be an orphan before it’s even born.”

  Huh? Skye had no idea what Glenda meant, but she zipped her lip.

  “Now, Mrs. Doozier.” Carson stepped between the women. “There’s no need to get upset.”

  “Yer right.” Glenda narrowed her rabbitlike eyes. “Cause you’re either payin’ our price or we’ll go with our original plan.”

  “I’ll give you two hundred and fifty.” Carson’s tone was firm. “Or we’ll let the police settle the matter. I’m sure they’d be interested in your illegal gun selling and fraudulent fundraising operation.”

  Skye recoiled, then hastily scooted behind Carson. Telling Glenda something she didn’t want to hear was dangerous. Threatening to bring in the cops was suicidal.

  When Glenda didn’t immediately respond, Carson crossed his arms and warned, “And the amount goes down every second I have to wait.”

  As quick as a squirrel shimmying up the pole of a bird feeder, Glenda launched herself at Carson. As he dove to one side, Skye turned to run. But it was too late. Glenda was already in midair, heading straight toward her.

  Chapter 19

  “Don’t you suppose we could rescue them?” asked the girl anxiously. “We can try,” answered the Lion.

  “I am so sorry. I had no idea that you had stepped behind me.” Carson glanced anxiously at Skye as he tossed a large cardboard box containing the disposable-camera stun guns into the back of the Hummer. “You know I would never put you in danger.”

  “Of course I do.” Skye allowed him to open her door and help her into the passenger seat, then rubbed her baby bump and said, “And even if I wasn’t sure of that, which I am, I’m absolutely positive that you wouldn’t jeopardize your grandchild.”