Bitter Truth

by CJ Lyons

  The phone rang again. “911—” She paused. “No, this is the right number. Doc Judith is busy helping with the search, so she’s forwarded all her calls here. Is it an emergency?” She leaned over her desk, scribbling on a notepad. “You have the semen and want to schedule—oh, not until next week? Okay, I’ll pass the message on, but give her time to get back to you, right now she’s got a lot on her plate.” She shook her head. “Some folks think more of their animals than they do their own neighbors.”

  “Judith is pretty amazing,” Nick said. “Running her practice, which obviously takes her all over—”

  “You should see her come calving season, zipping all over in that little plane of hers.”

  “Plus being county coroner and now acting sheriff.”

  “Don’t forget running that motel her husband saddled her with.” She shook her head in regret. “That damn thing’s a money pit. The poor woman will never be free of it. Don’t know what he was thinking.”

  From the light in her eyes, he’d found a topic that would hold her interest. “She told us about her husband’s death.”

  “Such a shame. They’d only been here a few years, but he seemed like a nice man. He just doted on Judith—got her that plane and flying lessons, outfitted her vet clinic with all the latest equipment. The only thing they disagreed on was the motel. She hates it, hates the zoo, hates living there. But he loved it all. Couldn’t see how it was never going to turn into the fancy resort he dreamed it could be.”

  Behind Harriet, Lucy waved at Nick to keep the conversation going. He felt like he was grasping at straws as he said, “And it was one of his own snakes that bit him?”

  “He was the only one who’d go near those snakes. He didn’t even let Judith touch them. I don’t see the appeal, myself. We got enough snakes to worry about around here without putting them on display.”

  Nick remembered the question that had snagged his curiosity earlier back at the motel. “But I noticed he didn’t have any local snakes. You guys have several varieties of rattlesnakes, but he didn’t keep any in his collection.”

  “Really? I never thought of that. I guess you’re right. But he didn’t actually collect any of those snakes. Not by himself. He bought them online. I know because I had to sign for them when they arrived, being postmistress and all.”

  “This might sound funny, but you wouldn’t happen to have those records? Could I maybe get a look?”

  “Why? You think someone sent him the wrong snake?”

  “Something like that.”

  “But it was so long ago, and they’re all dead. What does it matter?”

  Nick gave her his most charming smile. “Guess it doesn’t. I was just curious, is all.”

  She shrugged. “I got nothing else to do, with everyone gone on the search. It’s all computer nowadays, so let me see.” She tapped a few keys and looked up. “Hey, that was easier than I thought. Here you go. Seven snakes, all accounted for.”

  Nick pivoted to see the screen, holding his phone to grab a few quick shots of it. The snakes were listed by their scientific genus and species; he’d need to look them up to find their common names. When he was a kid, he’d briefly been interested in snakes, until a near-miss encounter with a timber rattler had squelched his curiosity. But none of these names looked familiar.

  Lucy returned from Bill’s office, holding a photo of him in his sheriff’s uniform. “Is it okay if we take this?”

  “Sure.” Harriet looked from Lucy to Nick, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “You’re taking that to Deena?”

  “If she needs it. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Lucy turned to the map, her finger tracing the quadrants south and west of the search perimeter. “How come some of these areas have a sticky note on them? Does that mean they’ve been cleared even though the search has shifted to the east?”

  Harriet stepped forward and squinted at the areas. “I didn’t put those up. Must’ve been Gleason or one of the team leaders. I guess maybe folks covered those before Bill sent that text.”

  “Is there anything interesting in those sectors?”

  “Same as anywhere else around here. A few good huckleberry picking sites is all I can think of.”

  Lucy frowned at that, doubtful.

  Nick took Lucy’s arm and led her to the door. “Thanks, Harriet. You’re a gem.”

  “I don’t know what you two are up to, but if it finds Bill, I’m glad to have helped.” The phone rang again, but before she answered it, she said, “Just don’t go running off anywhere without calling in to me first. The last thing we need around here is two more city slickers lost.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lucy and Nick walked back to where they’d parked Bill’s truck. “What did you find?” Nick asked her, once he had climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Nothing. I guess he kept everything at home or with him in the Jeep.”

  “Where to next?”

  “The only person who seems willing to talk about what Bill was looking into is Gus Holmstead.” She put the truck in gear. “Plus I want to ask him about those geological engineers. There’s something off about them.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Lucy drove them east out of town to the Magruder Corridor. She turned down the drive onto the Holmstead land, this time following it all the way instead of turning off to head into the forest. On the way she told Nick about her morning: the bear trap, the engineers’ camp, and her conversation with Gus.

  Finally, she slowed to a stop in front of the Holmstead home. There were no other vehicles visible and no sign of Amy or Gus. She climbed out of the truck, waiting for Nick to join her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t even realize it when her hand skimmed beneath her tee to settle on the Beretta holstered at the small of her back, it was such an automatic reflex. But a reflex triggered by what? “Something feels off.”

  A curtain rustled in an open window on the second floor. Except…the wind was coming from the other direction.

  “Back in the truck,” she ordered Nick. To his credit, he trusted her instincts enough that he moved without questioning her or hesitating. She stepped back, the truck’s engine block providing cover from the house. If Gus or Amy were inside, they would have heard the truck arriving and have come to greet them.

  She was debating her options when a shout sounded from inside. “Help!” a woman’s voice called. Before Lucy could react, a shot was fired from the second floor window.

  Lucy drew and returned fire. She jumped into the pickup’s cab where Nick had crouched low. Another shot, this one pinging off the truck’s bed. She started it and peeled away, dust billowing in their wake as two more shots sounded.

  A glance in the rearview revealed a SUV careening around the barn, barreling straight at them and cutting off any chance of escaping to the main road.

  “What about Amy and Gus?” Nick asked. “We need to go back. We’re headed the wrong way.”

  “That was Amy screaming. I don’t know where Gus is.” Or even if he was still alive, she thought. One hostage was much less work than two for the same amount of leverage. “Can you get a call out?”

  Nick already had his cell in his hand, trying. They had reached the narrow lane between the fenced-in pastures, tall grass whipping in the wind. The llamas, horses, goats, and alpacas all watched the two human vehicles race past, bumping along the rutted gravel drive.

  “No service,” Nick reported. He leaned out his window, peering at the side view mirror. “That’s Davenport riding shotgun. Another guy is driving, I can’t see.” He pulled his head back inside the truck. “He’s got a gun. Why would an engineer need a gun? Why would they be shooting at us or want to hurt Gus and Amy?”

  “It’s my fault. I must have spooked them this morning when we showed up at their camp.”

  “Yeah, but what do they want? Do you think they have anything to do with Bill?”

  Lucy had no answers,
so she focused on driving. There was no room to maneuver; they were penned in by wire and fence posts. Ahead they would re-enter the forest where the road grew even more rugged and constrained. She glanced across the meadow to their right. It had the most room to maneuver, and beyond it lay the gully with the dry creek bed she and Gleason had driven on this morning when he cut down it to the river. If she could find a place where the bank wasn’t too steep or covered with rocks and boulders, they could follow the creek bed, reversing the route from this morning, cut over to the main drive, circle back around to the house, and help Gus and Amy.

  Or follow the track the whole way to the main road, get help, and then return. Either way, at least they had options other than being herded straight into the river on the other side of the forest.

  “Hold on,” she told Nick, as she fastened her seatbelt, glanced to make sure he had his on, and then spun the wheel and aimed the truck between two fence posts.

  The wire twanged and rattled over the truck’s hood and windshield before finally snapping as she accelerated across the uneven ground. Both fence posts came out of their anchor holes, bouncing behind the truck and right into Davenport’s SUV as it turned to follow them. Score one for the good guys, Lucy thought as she fought to keep the truck from spinning out on the slick grass. The ground was disappearing quickly; she had to make a decision about where to enter the gully.

  The SUV was gaining on them again—and now was on a tangent that would prevent Lucy from turning toward the main drive, effectively herding them toward the river.

  “Try again,” she told Nick.

  “Still can’t get through—there’s no signal.”

  “There was earlier. They must have cut the satellite service.” That meant at least one of the four men had to be at the house still. Two in the SUV. So at most one left at the river camp. Maybe going that direction wouldn’t be the worst option.

  But first she had to stop Davenport and his partner in the SUV. She spotted a row of boulders lining the edge of the gully ahead.

  “Take the wheel,” she told Nick, as she slowed just enough to allow the SUV to draw even with them. She kept her foot firmly on the gas while Nick steered. She raised her Beretta, aiming for the SUV. Fancy shots like hitting the tires only happened in the movies; she was fine with simply distracting them.

  She fired three shots, all hitting the SUV’s sidewall and doors—nothing lethal, not at this range, but enough to draw the driver’s attention, so that he steered toward her, trying to give Davenport a better shot. Lucy yanked the wheel back from Nick while hitting the brakes, spinning into a donut over the grass. The SUV flew past, Davenport’s shots missing them, but it was going too fast and had no room to maneuver before it hit the boulders and launched into the air over the gully.

  Lucy was also out of room, but she’d slowed the pickup and was able to skid past the boulders before hurtling over the edge and into the creek bed. The pickup was airborne for a gut-clenching second and almost came close to breaching the gully altogether and landing on the opposite side. But then they were dropping, pitching nose first.

  A crash sounded from upstream, but Lucy had no time to register it. In the side view mirror, she saw the SUV rolling over and spinning across the creek bed. Then the gully’s far side filled her vision and they rammed the rock wall.

  The truck plowed through the mud and layer of loose gravel to hit solid bedrock. The driver side airbag blew out, blinding Lucy for a long moment. Gravity shifted, yanking her forward against her seatbelt then down as the pickup’s momentum propelled the truck bed up and over, flipping it nose down into the creek bed. Lucy and Nick were tossed around, but the engine block took the brunt of the damage.

  The truck shimmied and came to a stop with a groan of metal. Lucy blinked against the smoke from the airbag. The front windshield was cracked and caved in, and they were facing the creek bed, tilted at an oblique angle, the truck not quite all the way flipped over. She felt aches and bruises already sprouting but nothing major. Thankfully she’d let go of the wheel at the last minute; otherwise the air bag probably would have broken her wrist. Somehow she’d managed to hang onto her Beretta. “Nick?”

  She braced herself on the steering wheel—which was now oriented down—and turned. Nick’s side had no airbag. He’d slammed his head against the dash, and blood seeping from where he lay face down.

  “Nick?” she shouted, her ears ringing.

  Her door wouldn’t budge but her window had been open, so she undid her seatbelt and hoisted herself out. Upstream the SUV lay on its side, wedged in by a bottleneck in the gully walls. No one had emerged from it yet.

  Lucy stumbled around to Nick’s side of the truck. The force of the impact had popped his door open. He was breathing, moaning, and finally raised his head. “Wait, don’t move. Does your neck hurt? Can you feel everything?”

  Blood was dripping down his face, and there was already a lump forming on his forehead. She checked his neck and did a quick scan for any serious injuries.

  “Cracked a few ribs,” he muttered, wincing when she ran her hands over his right side. “But it’s my leg—I felt something snap.”

  She crouched low. His right leg had gotten caught between the truck’s frame and the metal seat support. “Okay, pull your weight up off the seat, and I’m going to slide it out.” A horn went off in the distance—Davenport and his partner were stirring. “C’mon, we need to hurry.”

  He hoisted himself up, climbing up along the tilted dash, and she guided his ankle and foot free. Then he leaned his weight against her as he climbed out. A grunt of pain escaped him when he tried to put weight on his ankle. He hobbled a few steps, one arm draped around her shoulder, but then she spotted a glint of metal. Her walking stick—it had been sitting beneath the dash on Nick’s side of the truck and had fallen out when the door flew open.

  “Use this.” She handed him the stick, and he took a few experimental steps, wincing with pain. “Keep going. I’ll get our packs.”

  Both their daypacks had been tossed into the rear compartment behind the seats. She’d have to climb all the way into the truck to reach them. Before she made it even to the open door of the truck, shots rang out.

  She ducked down. Neither Davenport nor his partner had gotten free of their SUV, but Davenport had pulled his torso and arms out of the passenger side window to shoot at them. His shots went wild—no wonder, given his awkward position. He was just trying to slow them down, which was the last thing Lucy was about to do.

  She abandoned the packs and ran back to Nick. “Go, go, go. He can’t hit us, but they’re going to get clear of that wreck soon. Or his friends will hear the noise and come to help.”

  Nick kept hobbling, dodging the rocks that lined the creek bed, his long legs striding along in a strange loping-hop-limp as he coordinated the walking stick with his other leg to protect his ankle. His face was red not just with blood but with pain, his lips so tight they were almost white.

  This was no good. If they kept going down the wash, they’d end up at Davenport’s camp—and there might be company waiting for them there. Plus the loose dirt of the creek bed was great for footprints, creating a track a blind man could see. They needed cover, a place to hide—and a way to call for help.

  Lucy dug in her pocket and pulled out Gleason’s bear trap map. She knew just the place. All they had to do was get there before Davenport or his friends caught up to them.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lucy helped Nick climb out of the wash, then took a few seconds to lay a false trail continuing toward the river and climbing out on the opposite side. Finally she made her way back to where Nick had taken cover behind some small bushes and saplings.

  “You have a plan?” he panted.

  She handed him the map, mainly to distract him. “We’re about here.” She pointed. They were almost midway between Gleason’s two bear traps. “The house is here.”

  She knelt at his foot, gingerly unlacing his boot. Then she quickl
y removed her own left boot and her AFO brace. The rigid plastic made for a perfect splint.

  “I’m not sure I can make it all the way back to the house,” Nick admitted.

  “It’s okay. I know someplace closer.” From the map, the terrain between here and the bear trap Gleason had showed her this morning was relatively flat. And it was closer than the Holmstead house. She’d get Nick there where he’d be safe and could use the trap’s Wi-Fi to call for help while she went to the house and checked on Gus and Amy.

  It wasn’t much of a plan, not against four men with semi-automatic rifles and who knew what other weapons, but it was a start.

  “This is going to hurt, but I need you to keep quiet.” Even though they couldn’t be seen from the creek bed, sound carried.

  Nick nodded and clenched his jaw and fists, and she tugged his boot off. His ankle and foot were already swollen, but his pulse was good. There was an angry red gouge above his boot where the metal had impacted. She fastened her AFO around his ankle, tightening it to give him as much support as possible, and carefully slid his foot back into his boot. That was the tough part, but no way could he travel barefoot. She felt his entire body go rigid with pain, so she moved as fast as she could. And then it was done.

  “We’ve got to go.” She handed him her walking stick, pulled his free arm and most of his weight onto her shoulders, squatted, and together they got him back on his feet. “Can you walk?”

  “Lead the way,” he said through gritted teeth. She took a moment to wipe the blood from his face with her sleeve and gave him a quick kiss.

  “We can do this,” she promised him. He gave her a weak smile that said he was trying to believe her.