by Nancy Martin
“Hey,” I said, half to myself. The ATV was headed straight at me. I moved aside, but the driver corrected his course and bore down on me.
In the nick of time I realized he really was aiming for me, and I barely dodged out of the way before he roared past in a cloud of dust. I glanced back and saw its dusty bumper sticker: I MAY GET LOST BUT I DON’T GET STUCK.
I tried to run toward the corral fence, thinking I could climb high to safety. Or maybe I could make it as far as the bunkhouse. But the driver had cut me off from the safety of the fence. He circled past, driving me farther out into the open space beyond the stockyard. The scrubland stretched to the horizon.
I could barely see the silhouette of a cowboy hat as he went by the second time, but didn’t catch his face. He swung the machine in a circle around me, kicking up grit, then cut sharply and came back, accelerating fast. This time he stood on the pedals, and in his free hand I saw a rope swing overhead—a lasso.
Instinct kicked in. I turned and ran.
But he caught me. As the ATV blew past, I felt the rope cinch around my shoulders. It tightened with a snap, pinning my arms, and I fell flat in the dust, all air driven from my lungs. I barely managed to avoid going face-first, but ended up on my side and tasted dirt. The rope bit into me, taut and painful. I bounced on the ground, hit my head, scraped my knees. I panicked. If he intended to drag me out into the scrub, I’d bounce helplessly behind him and be torn to bits in a minute.
The rope stayed tight. But the ATV stopped dead, thank heaven. I felt like an animal—roped and too stunned to fight back. I tried to suck in some air as he strode toward me. But I couldn’t make my lungs work.
Then he was standing over my body, yanking me up from the dirt by the rope. He turned me and flung me down on my belly and grabbed one of my feet. He yanked it up behind my thigh. I cried out in pain. In a second, he whipped the rope around my ankle, then did the same with my other foot. He straddled my shoulders, pinning my face into the dirt, squeezing my chest so hard I thought I’d smother. I lay stunned, unconsciously making a noise that didn’t sound human.
He grabbed my ponytail and jerked my head up. His breath smelled of pizza and whiskey as he leaned close.
His voice was a rasp. “You leave this alone, you hear? Forget about the dog and stop asking questions.”
I struggled against him, trying to wriggle him off.
He clouted my ear with a gloved hand. “Stop, or you’ll get it worse than this.”
He threw me back down into the dust, and my skull rang at the impact. With a jerk, he unwound the rope from my legs. Expertly, he lifted me up long enough to rip it from around my shoulders, then dumped me back on the ground.
A second later, he was gone.
I heard the ATV rev up again, and it buzzed off into the darkness.
I lay panting in the dirt.
I should have been crying, but I was too stunned. I tried to get up but got only as far as my hands and knees before I let out a gasp. I hurt all over. I stayed where I was, taking an inventory. No broken bones. Plenty of cuts and scrapes, though. I took a deep breath, then another. A few more to steady my nerves.
I was almost ready to clamber to my feet when something cold touched my face.
I yelped and scrambled backwards onto my butt. When I opened my eyes, Miss Ruffles stood smiling and panting at me from a few feet away.
Not Miss Ruffles. It was Fred. In my disoriented state, I had not recognized him. He had licked my face. His stump of a tail stirred, and he took a nervous pace forward. He dipped his head and stared at me with friendly concern clear in his brown eyes.
“I’m okay,” I told him, reassuring myself at the same time. “How did you get here?”
His tail wagged a little more. He had followed me, obviously. But his slow pace had only just now allowed him to reach me. He came closer and nuzzled my arm.
That’s when I did burst into tears. I hugged Fred, and he let me. His warm body comforted me, gave me the courage to gather my composure.
I took a deep breath and let it out. “Boy, I’m glad to see you.”
He wiggled in my embrace, and I let him go. I petted his head, gave his ribs a pat, and climbed to my feet.
The ATV was long gone. All that remained was a haze of dust that hung in the air, glowing from the light of the streetlamp over the corral. The slight breeze was dissipating the dust fast.
To Fred, I said, “I hope you can walk home. Because I don’t think I can carry you right now.” I swiped my dirty forearm across my face to get rid of the tears. My cheeks felt gritty.
He gave an all-over body shake that said he didn’t care how I looked, but he was happy to see me, too.
My heart filled. I was glad to have his company. “C’mon, then. Let’s go home.”
Fred waddled beside me, staying close. I wasn’t going to set any land speed records. My whole body was stiffening up fast. My knees were cut and bleeding. I walked tentatively, pausing now and then for Fred to get his breath, too.
My mother’s research advice included something about endurance. I struggled to remember it. When confronting difficulties, she said, a scientist had to develop endurance to keep going. Fred and I made slow progress. He stopped twice to lie down. His ribs were heaving, and I thought maybe mine were doing the same thing. I was still scared, still stunned by what had happened. Still not making sense of what my attacker had said. As I waited for Fred to recover enough to get going again, my imagination conjured up my attacker over and over. He might come back for me. And then what? I hadn’t been able to fight him off before, and now I was in much worse shape.
“C’mon, Fred. We’ve got to keep moving.”
We made it back to Honeybelle’s house at last, and I saw that the back gate was open just a few inches. I must not have latched it tightly when I left, and Fred had nosed it open. Really stupid of me, considering what had happened to Miss Ruffles. When we got into the yard, I closed the gate firmly this time and latched it. I could hear Mr. Carver’s music up in his apartment. Mae Mae’s bedroom light was on.
I thought about taking off my clothes and slipping into the swimming pool. The water shimmered, and I could imagine how cool it might feel against my scraped skin and aching muscles. But I didn’t want any splashing to bring Mr. Carver or Mae Mae outside. If they found me, I was going to have a hard time explaining my injuries. So I dusted myself off outside and prepared to sneak into the house.
Fred and I tiptoed to the back door and let ourselves into the darkened kitchen. Fred went straight to the water bowl and drank. Then he stretched out on the cool kitchen floor and heaved a sigh of exhaustion. He was asleep a moment later.
I kicked off my sneakers by the back door and headed for the kitchen sink. I didn’t want to track dirt through the house. Cautiously, I turned on the water, glad I could see only a bad reflection of myself in the window over the sink. I didn’t want a good look at what my face looked like. Carefully, I filled my palms with cool water and gently splashed my cheeks. The water ran down my elbows, carrying dirt and sand into the sink. I leaned weakly there, holding my wet hands against my throbbing eyes. I fought down the urge to blubber again. I was home. Safe. In a few minutes, I would be upstairs in the tub, and then my bed. I longed for sleep.
But the light snapped on overhead, filling the kitchen with a bright glare.
I straightened up and whirled to see who had arrived.
Mae Mae stood in the doorway, wearing her bathrobe and boiling mad. “You’re making a mess of my kitchen. Look at that floor! And—Lorda mercy! What happened to you?”
“I … I tripped and fell.” My voice quavered. “Out walking Miss Ruffles.”
Mae Mae’s gaze grew more hostile. “Tripped over what? And fell down what canyon? You look terrible. Why—that’s blood!”
She stared at my knees. Blood had indeed trickled down my shins and soaked into my shoes.
There was no way to hide my injuries, but I hugged myself, hands trying to cover
the scrapes on my arms. Inadequately, I said, “I fell, that’s all. I’ll be okay in a minute.’
“Whyn’t you stop lying?” Mae Mae snapped. “You been lying since you set foot in this house.”
“W-what?”
“I’m sick of your deceitful ways. You’ve been a shifty little sneak since you sashayed into town.”
“I have not!”
She stormed into the kitchen, yanked open a drawer, and pulled out her rolling pin. She pointed it at my nose. “You bulldozed Honeybelle from the start. She was the kindest, best lady in this whole town, and you took advantage of her like everybody else!”
“I did no such thing!”
“I shoulda run you out of here a long time ago.”
“Mae Mae—”
“You’re a snake in the grass, and I have a mind to finally call the police and tell ’em exactly what you did.”
“What do you think I did?”
“It was you.” Mae Mae’s eyes narrowed to slits, and her breathing was ragged. “You gave some of those dog pills to Honeybelle. That’s how she had her heart attack and died—from you giving her dog pills when she wasn’t looking!”
I barely made it to the kitchen table before my legs gave out. I plunked into a chair, stunned into silence.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
If the Good Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise.
—TRADITIONAL
It’s strange not being trusted when you’re accustomed to being the most trustworthy person around. All my life, I’d taken care of my mother, taken care of her colleagues. I picked up their laundry, did their taxes, even house-sat for a few people and fed their tropical fish. So it was weird and hurtful to be the object of Mae Mae’s obvious dislike.
Now, though, Mae Mae advanced on me, a towering figure with the rolling pin raised aloft. “Maybe I can’t prove it, but Honeybelle didn’t die of no natural causes. It was you!”
The pills I had been asked to give Miss Ruffles were only vitamins. Certainly nothing lethal. But Mae Mae didn’t know that. More calmly than I felt, I said, “Why would you say such a thing?”
“You wanted her money, same as everybody. You’re so smart, you figured a way to get it. Smiling, doing everything she asked, sweet as pie, talking to her day and night—you got her to change her will, to include you. And then you killed her.”
It was so absurd, and yet I could see how it made perfect sense to her. But I was tired and shaken and in no shape to make sense, so I laughed. I hiccoughed and laughed and sputtered and finally clapped one hand over my mouth and just shook my head at her.
“What’s so funny?” Mae Mae demanded.
“It’s not,” I said when I could finally speak. “It’s not a bit funny. I thought the same thing, Mae Mae. Somebody must have poisoned her. I think somebody killed her, but it wasn’t me. I swear it wasn’t me.”
Mae Mae stood for a full minute, working her jaw, staring into my face as if she could learn the truth by drilling into my brain with a laser. Finally she plopped into the chair opposite mine and spoke. “You really think somebody killed Honeybelle?”
I sobered up fast. “I don’t think she died of an ordinary heart attack.”
“Why not?”
“You know why. Because she was healthy. She didn’t have any health problems at all. She was upset about the garden club thing and her disagreement with President Cornfelter and … and everything else, but she was getting over that.”
Mae Mae still glared at me with suspicion. “It broke her heart, the garden club ladies turning their backs on her the way they did. Posie turned them all against her.”
“But after a few days, she decided to put the garden club behind her and start doing new things. She was going to lunch in Dallas. She was thinking about travel.”
“She was never sick for a day,” Mae Mae said, more to herself than to me. “Not except a little cold now and then. She took good care of herself.”
“There’s no reason she should have had a heart attack,” I agreed. With great relief at finally having someone to share my jumbled theories with, I said, “Honeybelle rewrote her will just in the last month or so—just before she died. And then how quickly the funeral happened—that was even stranger, wasn’t it? It was like everybody was hurrying through the process. And now Ten saying he can’t find a death certificate. Why would her death certificate be missing if there wasn’t something fishy going on?”
Mae Mae snapped her gaze up to mine again, mistrust back in place. “You’re not thinking Mr. Ten had anything to do with Honeybelle’s death?”
“I hardly know him—not the way you do.”
She shook her head. “He’s a good boy. Had his wild ways when he was younger, before he got himself banged up, but he’d never hurt a fly. Not even those bulls that near killed him. And anyway, what did he stand to get when Honeybelle died?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed, starting to feel exhausted in addition to my aches and pains. “All I’m thinking is that Honeybelle didn’t die of a plain old heart attack.” I took a deep breath to gather what was left of my courage. “I was down at the stockyard tonight. A man on an ATV came out of nowhere and lassoed me. He knocked me down and threatened me.”
Mae Mae was shocked. “Lassoed you like a steer?”
“Yes, and when I was down in the dirt, he told me to stop asking questions.”
“About Honeybelle?” She sucked in a shocked breath. “Are you sure? Stop asking questions or what? What did he say he’d do?”
“He said for me to forget about the dog and stop asking questions. I was flat on my face in the dirt at the time. I presume he meant he’d hurt me more than he had already.”
For the first time, I considered the truth of what tonight’s violent incident meant. Honeybelle’s death hadn’t been something accidental or natural. Somehow, too, the kidnapping of Miss Ruffles was tangled up in Honeybelle’s death.
Mae Mae was staring at nothing, her mind going just as fast as mine. She watched a lot of crime television, so maybe the leap from heart attack to murder wasn’t such a great distance for her. Abruptly, she set the rolling pin on the table. “I knew it. I just knew it.”
“You didn’t mention it to me,” I said tartly.
She shot back, “’Cause I figured you were the one that done it.”
“Well, it wasn’t me. The man tonight convinced me she was murdered, though.”
Mae Mae’s stare narrowed. “You’re thinking it was Ten who roped you.”
“No,” I said at once. “But he was a cowboy. Somebody good with a rope. I didn’t see his face. It had to be somebody strong.”
“He ain’t as strong as he used to be, not since his accident. He’s not supposed to be riding a horse, but he does, easy like. I don’t know if he could ride one of those ATV things. Anyway, in this town, half the men rope and ride in competitions on the weekends. Coulda been anybody.”
“I don’t think it was Ten,” I said softly. “It didn’t—I don’t know—it didn’t feel like him.”
Mae Mae’s thoughts had already traveled back to Honeybelle. “Who else you been thinking could have murdered our Honeybelle?”
I liked the sound of “our Honeybelle.” Still, I was reluctant to share all my suspicions with my newfound ally. “Well…”
“Go on and say it,” she ordered.
I started to rub my forehead, but my skin hurt and I stopped. “Listen, this is all speculation. And maybe my imagination got carried away—”
“Who else?” Mae Mae asked again.
I gave up trying to hold back. “President Cornfelter. He wanted a new football stadium very badly. He wanted a big donation.”
“And maybe figured he’d get it faster if she got herself killed.”
“Yes. And he had an argument with her the morning she died. She was in the car, and he went over and had words with her.”
Mae Mae shook her head. “He’s too high class to kill somebody. Anybody else?”
I di
dn’t agree, but I didn’t argue either. I said, “Okay, this is going to sound crazy.”
“I’ve seen plenty of crazy.” Mae Mae leaned on her elbows. “Who else you thinking about?”
“Posie.”
Mae Mae snorted like a horse. “Now, that’s just foolish talk.”
“Think about the wedding. How much Posie wanted to have it here, how adamant Honeybelle was about not hosting it.”
“No way she’d kill her own mother-in-law. Not over a wedding.”
“Even though she thought she’d inherit millions? She’d already humiliated Honeybelle in front of the garden club. She’s ambitious, Mae Mae. And she seems pretty ruthless to me. Mr. Carver said there’s been a long dispute between them. Over Hut Junior. And Honeybelle’s rose garden.”
“What?”
“The rose garden. Honeybelle stole a lot of the roses in her collection.”
Mae Mae was scandalized. “That’s a damn lie!”
“Is it?” I asked. “The Appleby family sold a rose to Honeybelle, but they’re saying she didn’t pay them what the rose was really worth. Or that she cheated them somehow. Anyway, something strange was going on between them. I just don’t know what yet.”
Mae Mae didn’t answer, but I could see her chewing on my ideas. Finally, she said, “Anybody else?”
“Mr. Gamble. He’s the only one who could have cremated Honeybelle without requesting an autopsy that would confirm her exact cause of death. And now he’s mysteriously left town.”
“He was over the moon for her! Why would he kill her?”
“Okay, if not him, there are dozens, maybe hundreds of people who borrowed money from Honeybelle, and probably some who couldn’t pay her back. Shop owners, scholarship recipients—”
“She only loaned out small amounts to local people. Not enough to kill for.”
“Maybe you’re right. I met some of them at the church, and they all seemed nice. It only takes one of them who wasn’t so nice, though.” I tried to steady my racing pulse. “The big question is who had a reason to kill her and the opportunity to poison her or … or drug her or do whatever it took for Honeybelle to die. It had to be somebody close enough, somebody she trusted, don’t you think?”
