by Ann B. Ross
The cart careened across the lawn, bounded up onto a paved surface, struck a patio chair, and came to an abrupt halt. It teetered for a second, rocking back and forth, until the nose slowly tipped over and we hit the water.
The little cart began to sink as water flooded the floorboard and climbed into our laps. “Get out, Etta Mae!” I yelled, scrambling to get myself out. The raincoat billowed out around me as I leaned into the water, thankful for the doorless cart, and started dogpaddling to the edge of the pool.
“Help!” Etta Mae screamed. “I can’t swim!” She thrashed around on the other side of the cart, flinging water everywhere and getting nowhere fast.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I was paddling as fast as I could, but sinking just as fast. Grabbing the cart to pull my way around to Etta Mae before she drowned, my foot touched the bottom of the pool.
“We’re in the shallow end!” I cried, relief flooding my soul. “Stand up, Etta Mae, we can walk out.”
I finally pulled my way around the cart to reach her, and together we made our way to the underwater steps and climbed out, drenched to the skin.
“Oh, my Lord,” she said, leaning over and gasping for breath, “I thought I’d killed us both.”
“No, I think we’re saved. Somebody’s coming.” I pointed to two flashlight beams bobbing toward us.
“Waites! Is that you?” Ardis’s voice carried easily across the back lawn.
“No,” I called back. “It’s us.”
Ardis and Carl came running up, and Etta Mae, sopping wet, flung herself onto Ardis, sobbing, “I broke it or drowned it or something. We’ll never get it out, and I’ll never be able to pay for it.”
“We’ll fix it, little girl, whatever it is,” Ardis said. “Don’t you worry. What’re you doing out here anyway?”
“Searching,” Etta Mae said. She pushed back her wet hair and pointed at the swimming pool. “We’ve been all over the place in that golf cart and something chased us and licked me on my neck and I got so scared, I drove it into the pool, and I guess I ruined it.”
“And,” I added, “we borrowed your big flashlight because the go-cart didn’t have lights. I dropped it when Etta Mae lost control, so she couldn’t help driving into the pool—we couldn’t see a thing.”
“My Maglite?”
“Well, yes, and I thank you for the use of it.” I think his eyes rolled back in his head, but it was too dark to tell.
Carl swung the beam of his flashlight around and centered it on the canvas roof of the golf cart—the only part visible. It looked like one of those floats that women lie on to sunbathe.
“Oh, shoot!” Carl said, except he used a different word that revealed his poor breeding. “Agnes is not gonna like this.”
That just tore me up. Here we’d been driving half blind, found a hanged man, been chased by some dark creepy thing and come near to drowning, and all he could think of was what Agnes would or wouldn’t like.
“Well, here’s something else she won’t like,” I said, wringing out my skirttail. “There’s a half-naked, tattooed dead man hanging from the rafters in a shack back in the woods. We couldn’t get in to cut him down, but somebody better get down there.”
“Oh,” Carl said, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s just Darren. He’s doing a suspended meditation. I hope you didn’t disturb him.”
“Disturb him! We couldn’t get a twitch out of him. I think he’s meditated himself right out of his body. For all we know, it was his spirit that was after Etta Mae.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” Etta Mae said, snuggling closer to Ardis.
“But,” I went on to Carl, “if you’re not concerned about him and if he’s doing it to himself, then good luck to him. But he’s in bad shape and somebody ought to see to him. And I’ll tell you this,” I said, pointing my finger at him, “if Agnes didn’t want go-carts in her pool, she should’ve turned on the yard lights and kept them on. And you can tell her I said so.”
Turning to Ardis, I asked, “What did you find out about Adam? Did Nellie know what happened to him?”
Ardis held Etta Mae with one arm and with the other hand, a flashlight—a normal-sized one, not the great long one he used in the line of duty because it was still lighting up the horse pasture—and it cast a dim glow around us. He shook his head. “She said she watched him fix the generator, then she offered him a snack. From the sound of it, they maybe had a little party and she tried to get him to spend the night. She’s a bold one, all right—shameless, even—but he turned her down. She got mad and went to bed. And that’s all she knows.”
“You mean he’s still out here somewhere! And nobody knows anything? What’re we going to do?” I’d finished wringing out my dress and started on my hands, just torn up over our failure to rescue Adam.
“Well, first I’m gonna get my Maglite, then get you ladies back to the truck, call in the sheriff and wait for help,” Ardis said. “That’s my advice.”
I didn’t particularly like his advice, but I didn’t know what else to do. So we trudged back across the lawn, stepping over and occasionally into flower beds that lined the walkway. I was miserable in my wet clothes, which were clinging to me in embarrassing ways—a raincoat isn’t much help when you drive into a swimming pool. And miserable, also, because we had not found Adam. We’d looked all over creation, except …
“Sheriff McAfee?” I said, using a formal address in case he was less than happy with me for appropriating his precious Maglite. He nodded to indicate he was listening, as we swerved to avoid a birdbath. “We haven’t looked in the barn. Adam could be in there, in a stall or something. And,” I went on, “nobody’s searched the house, either.”
“He’s not in the house,” Carl snapped. “Nobody goes in the house without Agnes knowing it.”
That was interesting. Because if she knew that’s where he was, it was no wonder she’d been so rude and dismissive of our search.
I opened my mouth to snap back at Carl, but Ardis intervened. “Let’s get you ladies settled, and I’ll search the barn. We’ll leave the house for the sheriff.” Then, in that easy way of his, he said, “I expect Miss Agnes will know it when a bunch of deputies tromp in.”
I figured that had settled Carl’s hash, so I focused on picking my way toward the garage without breaking my neck. Carl and Ardis were not very steady with the flashlight beams, and I was getting even more anxious about Adam, as I peered this way and that, looking for him instead of watching where I stepped.
We finally reached the paved courtyard in front of the garage, and Etta Mae and I, wet to the skin, headed for my car. Thank goodness for leather seats. I slid beneath the wheel and immediately turned on the ignition and the heater, hoping to dry us off.
The headlights came on when the motor did, and Etta Mae, who was walking around the car to get to the passenger side, suddenly stopped. “Look!” she screamed, pointing to Adam’s truck. “There’s feet sticking out!”
Chapter 50
And there certainly were. The driver’s door stood open and whoever’s feet were sticking out was sprawled across the bench seat. But it wasn’t just feet we saw, but feet clad in mud-caked, heavy-duty work boots with a familiar green patch on the tongue.
“It’s Adam!” I cried, scrambling out of the car, thrilled at finding him. “I’d know those boots anywhere.”
Ardis strode toward the garage, holding up his hand as if he was directing traffic. “Stay back, ladies. Stay back.”
I declare, Sheriff McAfee was more concerned about the tender sensibilities of the weaker sex than he had any right to be. But after searching all over Agnes Whitman’s grounds, woods and swimming pool half the night, I wasn’t about to stay back.
Nor was Etta Mae. Both of us ran after Ardis, bunching up around the truck door, trying to see inside.
“Where’d he come from?” Etta Mae said, peering around Ardis’s shoulder. “He wasn’t in here when we looked before. I mean, we couldn’t of missed seeing him. Could you,
Ardis?”
“Nope. This truck was empty when I looked. Pretty obvious that he crawled in while we were all out rambling around somewhere else.”
I thought that might be a little jab at Etta Mae and me for not obeying his orders to stay in the car, but I let it slide. You’re not the boss of me, I thought, especially because I felt I pretty much knew the kind of judgment a snake handler would have.
“Is he alive?” I asked, trembling, as I tried to peer around Ardis’s shoulders.
“So far,” Ardis said as he leaned in and turned Adam over. Then he sat him upright and slid him to the edge of the seat with his legs dangling out. He was covered in mud and blades of grass, but it was his head that made my stomach knot up and my skin begin to crawl. Dried flakes of blood stained one side of his face and throat, with a little fresh blood dribbling down on top.
“Oh, my Lord!” Etta Mae cried, flapping her hands as she called again on the deity. “What happened to him?”
Even Carl looked worried as Ardis put an arm around Adam and stood him up, a cell phone sliding to the garage floor at the same time. “Is he all right?” Carl asked.
As Adam swayed and began to list to one side, Ardis steadied him, saying, “Whoa. Hold on there, son.”
I was reluctant to touch him, but I did, holding on to one side so he wouldn’t fall. “We have to get him to the hospital,” I said, shivering with anxiety. “He looks near death, like he said he was.”
Ardis reached down and picked up Adam’s cell phone. He looked at it and punched a few buttons. “This is the only thing near death around here. There’s nothing wrong with this boy that a good hosing won’t fix,” Ardis said. “He’s as drunk as a skunk.”
And just about then, I got a good whiff of powerful fumes emanating from Adam in waves, probably because I was right in line with his breath.
“But he doesn’t drink!” I cried, hardly able to believe what was right under my nose. “He’s been led astray by the wrong crowd.” I gave Ardis a hard look, because it had to have been a member of his family who’d done the leading.
“Where’s the blood coming from?” Etta Mae asked, peering closely at Adam’s face. “Maybe he fell and cut himself on a rock or something. Let’s clean him off and see if he needs stitches.”
I hadn’t noticed that Carl had walked away until he came back from the side of the garage, dragging a hose behind him. “Here’s a rag I use to clean the cars,” he said, handing Etta Mae a none-too-clean cloth. It occurred to me that my dress was both wet enough and clean enough to tend a wound, but I didn’t have a mind to offer it.
“Sit him back down,” Etta Mae said, as Adam’s knees began to give way. His eyes were closed and his head lolled on his shoulders, as he mumbled something about his precious truck.
Etta Mae wet the rag under the trickle from the hose, wrung it out, then carefully began to clean the blood from Adam’s face. “Hold still,” she said. “I won’t hurt you.” Fairly soon, she had his face reasonably clean and began working around his hairline. “I don’t see a cut or a scrape or anything,” she said. “Maybe it’s in his hair. Scalp wounds bleed a lot.”
She leaned over Adam, frowning as she gently parted his hair and mopped at the dried blood. “Got to be coming from somewhere,” she murmured, then suddenly sprang back, dropped the rag, almost stumbling over Ardis’s foot. “Good gosh almighty! Look at that! I’m gonna be sick!”
As she whirled away from Adam, I stepped closer to see what was awful enough to turn a seasoned nurse’s helper’s stomach. Expecting to see a gash that had laid open his scalp, I steeled myself to look and cracked heads with Ardis who was doing the same thing.
I saw stars for a second, but not enough of them to block the sight of a large metal plug in Adam’s left earlobe. I turned away, sick at heart that he’d taken the first step to becoming another Carl—an example of stomach-turning metalwork.
Ardis snatched up the rag, wet it again, and mopped around Adam’s ear. “Well, I’ll say this,” he said, straightening up and gazing at what he’d uncovered, “I’ve seen a lot of strange things, but this is the first time I’ve seen a Phillips cross slot screw punched through an ear and backed with a wing nut.”
“They’ve modified him,” I moaned. “It’s the work of that body-manipulating church out here, and just look what they’ve done to him.”
Ardis threw down the wet rag and said, “Little Miss Nellie about needs a whippin’ for this. And I’ve a good mind to give her one, along with everybody else with a hand in it.”
About that time, Carl eased back into the shadows, turned and ran. And a good thing, too, because as threatening as Ardis sounded, he didn’t hold a candle to what I was feeling toward every pierced, tattooed and strung-up curiosity I’d seen, and especially toward Agnes Whitman, the instigator and perpetrator of it all.
“And I’ll tell you this,” Ardis said, as he stomped back and forth, “it’s no wonder this boy’s too drunk to stand up. I’d have to be in a flat-out coma before anybody could put a screw in my ear.”
Well, so would I, but not before I slapped the daylights out of Agnes if she came at me with a hole puncher.
We left the Whitman estate in a three-vehicle convoy—with me alone in my car; Ardis driving Adam’s truck, with Adam strapped in tight to keep him from sliding into the footwell; and Etta Mae in the Ram truck. She could hardly believe it when Ardis had handed her the keys, saying, “We got to get this boy to the emergency room, and I don’t want to have to come out here again. I’m shaking the dust off my feet. Mud, I mean.”
None of us had had the stomach to unscrew Adam’s new earring, especially after Etta Mae warned about the large hole it would leave. Then I chimed in, worrying aloud about a loss of brain cells because Adam had never built up a tolerance for any amount of alcohol, and he’d had a bait of it at one sitting. So Ardis had taken command as usual, deciding that he and Etta Mae would escort Adam to the hospital and I would go home and call the elder Mr. Waites. I think I got the short end of the stick.
When we reached Abbotsville, I peeled off and went home, going straight to the telephone when I got there, disregarding the time of night. I wanted that dreaded job over with as soon as possible. Nobody likes to hear the phone ring in the middle of the night, but I figured the Waites family would welcome news of Adam’s whereabouts. Until they heard he was in the emergency room, that is.
I didn’t go into detail when I spoke with Adam’s father, just said that his son had had a minor accident, and that I and some friends happened to be available to take him to the hospital because he’d seemed a little woozy.
That done, I went to bed, thinking I’d had my fill of going to the aid of grown men who’d gotten themselves into messes they couldn’t get out of—first, Mr. Pickens, and now, Adam. And both had brought me into contact with people who had strange ideas about how and whom to worship. All I could think was that you’d better have a firm foundation when you go out into the world. There’s no telling what you’ll run into.
Sunday morning I was with Lloyd in our usual pew at the First Presbyterian Church and thankful to be there. You can have your snakes and your tambourines, your hooks and screws and electric needles. Speedos, too. Give me the King James Version, a hymnal and Communion every quarter. Even with Pastor Ledbetter’s sermons, I wouldn’t trade a good traditional worship service for all the tea in China.
That afternoon, after Lloyd left to play tennis, I walked over to Hazel Marie’s. Mr. Pickens was in an expansive mood, looking healthier than he had since he’d left Mill Run, West Virginia. Hazel Marie was bubbling over with news that she couldn’t wait to tell me about.
“Ardis and Etta Mae came over this morning,” she said as I silently noted that the visit meant that none of them had gone to church. “And everything’s all right with J.D. No further action needed, Ardis said, because, really, he didn’t witness anything. But, Miss Julia, guess what! We’re going to visit him in Mill Run in a couple of weeks. J.D. wants to go fi
shing, and I’ve never been to West Virginia, and we’re just so thrilled!”
I looked from one to the other, wondering where their minds were. Mr. Pickens sat there on his eiderdown pillow, looking smug and satisfied, enjoying his wife’s excitement.
“What will you do about the babies?” I asked.
“Oh,” Hazel Marie said, “that’s the best part. J.D.’s going to rent an RV and we’ll take them with us. That way, we can take their stroller and their high chairs and everything they need. Ardis said there’s a campground nearby with a bathhouse and grills and hookups and everything. Won’t that be fun!”
For her sake, I hoped it would be, but if Sam ever came up with a vacation plan like that, I’d take to my bed.
Then nothing would do but that I had to hold each of the babies in turn. They were certainly growing, getting plump and wide-eyed and chewing on anything close to their mouths. I dandled and cooed to whichever one Hazel Marie put in my lap until one of them—Lily Mae, I think—spit up all over me and Hazel Marie relieved me of the honor.
While she took them back to their cribs, I took the opportunity to issue a discreet warning to Mr. Pickens.
“I’m glad to hear that things have worked out,” I said to him. “It must be a relief to know there’s not a warrant out for your arrest. But, Mr. Pickens, I wouldn’t get too involved with that sheriff if I were you. He’s not exactly what he seems.”
“McAfee?” Mr. Pickens’s eyebrows went up. “From what I hear, he was a good man to have around last night.”
“He told you about that, then? So, yes, he was certainly a help and I was glad he was there. But,” I said, leaning toward him and lowering my voice, “has he told you his church affliation?”
“Well, no. The subject hasn’t come up.”
