by Nina Barrett
Lucky?
She stared in puzzlement at Mac. He was backing up toward her, his hands in the air, a gun pointing at his abdomen.
“Keep moving,” someone growled.
She inhaled sharply, catching her lip with her teeth. She’d seen the gunman somewhere. In his fifties, he was tall and thin with stooped shoulders. He was wearing twill pants and a cotton shirt, an old hat pulled down over his ears. Had she seen him before in a business suit?
She swallowed.
“It’s all right, Jan.” Mac’s voice didn’t sound like he believed what he was saying. “Just do as he says.”
In Atlanta. Gordon Andrews. The man Mac had left the message for.
“You work for the I.R.S.”
“Apparently, that’s not all. I’m sorry, Jan. I thought Mr. Andrews could help get us out of this mess. I’m guessing now he has a vested interest in keeping this all covered up.”
“Sit down both of you at the table. And if you try to be a hero, McKenzie—” He swung the gun back at her. “The girlfriend gets it first.”
She backed up, feeling for a chair with her hand before her knees gave way.
“But you’re a C.P.A.,” she protested.
“Who began his career at the Bureau.” Mac sat down on the other side of the table, lowering his hand and reaching over to take her numb fingers in his strong ones. “What twenty-five years ago?”
“You’re catching on now, Special Agent.” Andrews bit off his words. “Blame Whit. If he’d been content to forget this one case, none of this would have had to happen.”
“He and Whittaker?” She looked at Mac. What was going on? Suddenly, her throat was dry.
“You two started out together? Only you played both sides.” Mac shook his head.
“The bastard had to keep digging away at it, couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
“So you planned to send Jan and me out in a blaze of glory and close the case, didn’t you?”
“Him?” She shook her head. Andrews looked so ordinary. None of this was making any sense. She felt like she had tumbled down a rabbit hole.
“Someone close to the investigation planted that bomb, Jan. Someone who knew where we’d be, then they watched and waited while we entered the bank. Only it was poor Jake who set off the device instead.”
“Nothing has gone right. Nothing in twenty-five years of misery since I made the mistake of getting involved with…”
What!! She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, as the cabin door flew open behind Andrews. It hit the wall and rebounded before a figure holding a shotgun pushed it open again. Beside her, Mac jumped, staring at the two figures entering.
Maggie May and behind her…
She blinked. Miss Lily in a polyester pants suit? The two of them riding in together to rescue them? Things were getting stranger and stranger.
She turned to Mac happily. But he wasn’t smiling. Puzzled, she looked back at the women. Maggie’s shotgun was pointed not at Andrews, but at the two of them. As she looked up, Andrews seemed more irritated than surprised.
“Should have known you two would show up just to make the day complete,” Andrews growled.
“What?”
“Jan...” Mac gestured toward the newcomers. “I think we’re witnessing the reunion of the original Dixie Deb gang. Or what’s left of it.”
“Them?” She was bewildered. “Maggie was the Dixie Deb?”
“Magnolia?” Miss Lily swayed on the two canes she was supporting herself with and snorted. “That’ll be the day you get my sister dressed up like a lady.”
Her sister. The girls were all named after flowers, Dahlia had told her back at the Major’s. Maggie May. Magnolia Mayhew.
“No, that was our baby sister, Azalea, before she got too big for her britches and decided to light out on her own,” Maggie corrected.
“So what? Mr. Andrews was the driver?” She turned to Mac.
“I don’t think so,” Mac said slowly as the two sisters laughed humorlessly. “I think there was a reason why the Deb’s accomplice never spoke up, wasn’t there, Maggie?”
She gave him a nod. “At least you weren’t born yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah? For an F.B.I. man, he was stupid enough to leave this address when he asked for my help. What tipped you two off?” Andrews asked.
“Lily saw their pictures in the Montgomery Journal yesterday, then caught a news report this morning about the robbery in Titusville. She thought they’d stayed up home last weekend. She came over this morning with the paper.” Maggie shook her head. “And this big feller has been helping me out at the business. An F.B.I. man. Goes to show you can’t trust anyone.”
“When did you cut yourself in with this little group of southern ladies, Andrews?”
“You’ve got the story backwards, Mac.” Maggie said. “Gordo here picked up Azalea when she was running a pigeon drop scam in Savannah, liked her talent, and thought he could move her up to bigger and better action. He’d provide inside information on which banks to hit and where the Feds were going in their investigation so we’d stay a jump ahead.”
“Why don’t you shut up, Maggie?”
“You don’t want Mac to hear how Andrews sold out his own?”
“Turned on his own? Why don’t you tell them how Azalea died while you’re catching McKenzie up on everything?”
Lily made a low growling sound and advanced on him, her canes thumping the floor, her snow-white coiffure bobbing.
“You turned Azalea’s head with your stories. She got greedy, holding out on us, her own kin. Then she took off driving like a bat out of hell when Sister and I tumbled onto what she was doing. I wouldn’t be using these walking sticks today if it weren’t for that.”
“Yeah, well as I recall it, Magnolia was behind the wheel when the two of you ran Azalea off the road.” Andrews jerked his head. “What’s left of their baby sister is in the trunk of one of those rusting wrecks down the road. Lily’s husband chose it as her final resting place. So much for fine sisterly sentiment.”
“It was you filling her with dang-fool nonsense. She thought she’d be moving up north to easy street with you, along with the take from all our hard work. Me driving, Lily painting her face and outfitting her, Tom keepin’ the cars running.” Maggie spit on the floor.
“But you two geniuses didn’t count on the car catching on fire and taking most of that hard work up in flames. I don’t see any of us living high, wide, and handsome after that.”
“We got our second chance now. Be the gentleman, Mac. I’ll take that seat of yours for my sister,” Maggie said.
Mac rose and moved away as Lily hobbled over to the table.
“Even with a three way split, it should set us up nicely. The paper Lily brought said Mac and Jan have raked off close to a million.”
“No way. Except for the last two heists, Derossiers had been confiscating the money and turning it in. I underreported what he gave me so it’d look like they’d been skimming.”
She saw Mac’s fists tightened as he stood by the stove.
“They wasted the money from the Titusville job throwing it out the window when they made their getaway. Look at this dump. If they had anything left, would they be living here?”
“Sounds like you did all right from the other jobs they pulled,” Maggie said.
“Not enough to pay me for all this grief.”
“It’s still going to pad your federal pension while the rest of us grow gray working our fingers to the bone,” Lily said. “Magnolia?”
“Right. You said the last two jobs. What about the one before Titusville?”
Mac stared at her. Was he trying to warn her?
“That money’s ours. After all these years working from dawn to dusk catering to a bunch of ill-mannered ingrates, I want to put up my feet and have someone wait on me,” Lily said.
“What we need to do is shut this investigation down before the feds catch on. They can’t be stupid forever. Now you say the B
ureau put McKenzie and the girl up at the Major’s? Can’t you see they’re closing in? Do you think that’s just coincidence?”
Andrews moved in back of her. The gun’s muzzle tickled her hairline. Her heart skipped a beat.
“That money’s long gone. Probably blown to bits along with the car back in Titusville.”
“Not necessarily,” Mac said quietly. “Just somewhere out of sight.”
Maggie and Lily looked at him.
“He’s lying, playing for time.”
“Give him a minute. You’re mighty free and easy with other people’s money now that you’ve got yours. He might be willing to deal for his sweetie’s life here.”
“You know what I told you on your voice mail. You can take the information about the microchips to arrest the people involved. Tell the Bureau Jan provided the tip that uncovered the smuggling operation. In return the I.R.S. drops the tax fraud charges, you look like a hero and Jan keeps her mouth shut.”
“Like I care about a damned bunch of computer stuff going overseas. Come on.” Andrews waved his gun at the sisters. “He’s stalling for time. We need to get rid of them both. I figure the junkyard has served us well. Move.”
“On Sunday!”
“What the…?”
“The Lord’s Day!” Maggie objected.
“Maybe you don’t observe the Sabbath.” Lily hobbled to her feet to join her sister facing Andrews with her shotgun. “But down here, mister, we have standards.”
Killers with a conscience? She looked at Mac who gave her a brief smile, shaking his head.
“We need to get rid of them while we have the chance. He’s F.B.I., dammit. Smarten up for once. He’s playing you.”
“Magnolia?”
“I’m thinking.” Maggie let the point of her shotgun drop. “Okay, we take the lovebirds down to the hatchery. There’s an old storage shed out back we can hold them in.”
“You’re—”
“I’m the one talking here, Andrews. I say we do a little horse-trading. Mac comes across with the missing cash, we cut Miss Jan loose. Gordo, you plant some of the missing cash in her accounts so if she ever gets the urge to be chatty, she can face some big jail time.”
“You two are crazy if you think you can trust them.”
“Yeah, well, trusting you didn’t get us real far, did it? Mac here, well, I’m afraid he just pretty much disappears.” Maggie sighed and shook her head. “And he was a real help to me, too. Seemed to have a feel for the fish.”
“But not on Sunday, Magnolia.” Lily was adamant.
“No, sister.”
“You two bit—” Andrews choked and stopped as Maggie’s shotgun swung in his direction.
“I think you need to be a little more respectful here in front of ladies, Gordon.”
Andrews bit his lip. She saw his hand tighten on the weapon.
“Sister, you go on ahead. Watch your step. Then Mac, you and Jan. Andrews, you follow them and I’ll be bringing up the rear.”
She felt Mac’s hand on the small of her back as Miss Lily lurched her way out of the cabin, supporting herself on her canes. Outside the rainstorm the night before had left everything clean and refreshed, the humidity washed away.
She could hear Andrews muttering to himself as he followed them. She stopped as Miss Lily took a misstep ahead of them and caught herself on the gnarled trunk of a red cedar. Her skin crawled.
Was it possible Andrews could just take the opportunity to shoot them right here? But then there would be two bodies needing disposal on Louis and Etta’s property. It seemed Maggie had bought them some time, but for what? Unfortunately, the Mayhew sisters didn’t seem to have moral qualms about killing on Mondays.
At the end of the path, she could see the café and parking lot. Too bad Etta and Louis observed Sunday as a day of rest, too. Andrew’s gun prodded her. Their time might be measured in moments now. How would her parents deal with their only child being found shot to death in rural Alabama, accused of a series of felonies?
Mac stumbled in her direction.
“Watch it!” Andrews growled.
“Jan.” Mac’s whisper was barely audible.
She tilted her head.
“When we get to the parking lot, move away.”
Was he going to make a run for it? Against two armed and dangerous people? She searched his face. He shook his head ever so slightly. So what was she supposed to do? A Maggie May panel truck was pulled behind the café near the dark sedan she supposed Andrew had arrived in.
Maggie went ahead to open the back of her truck.
“You know we might be able to arrange a mutually beneficial outcome for all of us here.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“No!” She gasped as Andrews swung his gun at Mac, hitting him in the jaw.
Mac winced and gave her a warning look. She bit her lip and edged away as he wiped away the blood and continued talking conversationally.
“There’s enough money left to plant it here with our fingerprints on it. Jan and I take off and you split the rest. It’s not like the two of us have the most upstanding reputations at this point. The take from the bank jobs plus reward money for turning in the microchip thieves should be enough to feather all your nests.”
Maggie and Lily regarded Mac, listening while Andrews scowled at him.
Mac was moving slowly as he talked toward the rear door of the café. Was he trying to get in? It was locked, wasn’t it?
“I’d just be our word against yours if we ever tried to talk. Fugitives on the run against local business women, two pillars of the community.”
“Can’t you see what he’s trying to do?” Andrews waved his gun in frustration. “He’s messing with your heads.”
“As well as that of a long-time federal employee nearing retirement after years of faithful service. Now whom do you think people are going to believe?”
Mac had moved toward the back steps, his leg brushing the storage container she’d seen Louis hauling something out to the other day.
“You gals had to be standing at the end of the line when God was passing out brains!” Andrews spit out, glaring at the sisters.
“Blaspheming on the Sabbath isn’t going to get you anywhere, Andrews. You may not be worried about your immortal soul…”
With the back of his knee, Mac was doing something. He was shifting his weight, rotating his leg. Moving something. The cap on the… what had Etta said it was?
“We don’t have all the time in the world here. The feds aren’t completely stupid. They know these two are in Alabama.”
“Which is a mighty big state, Gordo.”
Mac had slipped something out of his pocket. She couldn’t make it out. It looked like a book of…
“Jan!”
“Attention! This is the Fawcett County Sher—”
Someone was shouting, but she couldn’t understand their words. Mac’s body impacted hers, a fireball of smoke and flames whooshing after him as he knocked them both to the asphalt, rolling over her and covering her body with his. She lost her breath as the sky went black.
Chapter Fifteen
This was different. Waking up with Mac that morning, her body had been bruised with kisses, aching with tenderness. It had all been good.
This was not.
Everything hurt. Inhaling. The pressure of the sheet against her skin. Her hair?
She wet her lips and tried to move. Her legs didn’t want to respond. It felt like they weighed a ton. She paused and tried to wiggle her toes. Somewhere down there she could sense movement. That was something, wasn’t it? Didn’t that mean she wasn’t paralyzed? She tried the other foot.
“Waking up, are we?”
We? Even with her eyes closed, she was pretty sure she was alone in bed this time. So where was…
“Ma…” She opened her eyes and tried out her voice. A croak was the most she could manage.
“More water?” A fresh-faced, young woman with ginger curls got a cup with a
straw from the bedside table. She was wearing a pink-flowered top and hospital nametag. “Here let’s try and drink a little.”
Swallowing hurt, she managed two tiny sips. Her brain fog was starting to clear.
“Mac?” she managed to say.
“Excuse me?”
“Mac. Man…with me?”
“Oh.” The young nurse held up the cup again. “I don’t know. Several of you were brought in to the E.R. together. One poor lady has several broken bones.”
She tried to say “deserved it,” but the effort seemed too much. She sucked again at the straw her nurse held.
“I’m going to elevate the head of your bed.” Her nurse put down the cup to get the hand control.
There was a whirring as the head of the bed rose.
“How’s that? Feeling more comfortable?”
“Fine.” She drew a shaky breath and shuttered.
“Take it easy. You’ve got some cracked ribs along with a mild concussion. You’ll be in here overnight, but if you do okay, the doctor may discharge you tomorrow.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost four. Let me take a look at your eyes and get some vitals from you.”
She held still as the nurse flicked on her instrument, held her lids open, and checked her pupils, and then went on to check her pulse, temperature, and blood pressure.
“Okay, Jan. I don’t see a problem. Can you tell me what day it is?”
“Sunday.”
“Good and do you know where you are?”
“The hospital in, ah, Alabama. Fawcett County?”
“Close enough. Well, you have some visitors outside. Are you ready for company?”
“Yes, please.” She tried to sit up, winced, and decided to stay put. How did she look? Like that mattered. At least she was alive. She hadn’t been so sure of that earlier in the day.
A man paused in the doorway and walked in. Warren Whittaker? She hadn’t seen him since before the mess in Titusville. Hadn’t Mac said he’d gone back to headquarters in Atlanta? He was followed by a younger man she didn’t recognize in khaki trousers and a shirt with some kind of logo.
