All the Old Lions (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book One)

by Carol Caverly

  With thoughts of traps, or hit and run drivers, I jumped into my car and headed down the hill. The road was thoroughly wet by now and surprisingly slick. My foot poised halfway between the brake and the accelerator, not daring to do either as the car slithered crazily down the treacherous curve. Only luck kept me on the road, and allowed the turn onto the gravel at the bottom.

  Then came the rain. As if a plug had been pulled, great driving sheets of water pounded against the windshield whipped by a wind that appeared out of nowhere. I inched the car forward. The wipers were useless in the flood, and the meager visibility out the passenger side window wouldn’t help much if the dog were in the trees or bushes. A search seemed useless. I began to look for some way to turn around on the narrow road.

  Luckily, I saw an old turn-off, fenced across now, but long enough for my purpose. I turned in and stopped, reluctant to abandon the animal in this lousy weather. Abandonment seemed to have been too much his lot in life as it was. The rain pounded and the wind rocked the little car with its force. I rolled the window down, risking a deluge on the chance that I could see better. I was instantly drenched, and could see nothing, but an unmistakable whiny cry reached my ears.

  I quickly rolled the window back up, opened the door, and stepped out into a cross between Niagara Falls and hurricane Andrew. I wished I hadn’t run off without the raincoat, but it was too late now.

  The effort of slamming the door against the wind put me off balance. My feet slid out from under me and I shot down the slippery verge into the ditch, landing painfully on my seat. At least from that vantage point I was able to see the dog huddled tightly against a fence post, a black and white bundle of misery. Only the tiniest tip of his tail acknowledged my presence.

  He whimpered, but didn’t move. I thought he was hurt, but when I tried to turn him, found he was tied around the neck, his head drawn unnaturally against the rough post.

  In a fit of fury, I pulled and tugged at the speckled rag that bound him. The material was soaking wet, the knot wrenched tight by his struggles. Who would do such a thing! Frustrated, I took the blasted knot in my teeth, hoping the poor animal wasn’t so frightened he would bite. I should have known better. He nuzzled my neck and licked the rain from my cheek as the musty reek of dog burned my nostrils. I shivered in the sudden cold. The storm had robbed the day’s heat, dousing everything in ice water.

  “It’s all right, baby,” I crooned. “I’ve almost got it.” Finally, the knot loosened and began to separate in my fingers. I threw the rag in the mud and rubbed the dog’s neck.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He wouldn’t move. Whatever courage he had gained over the last few days had been beaten out of him. I’d have to carry him. I got a grip around his middle and lurched towards the car, slipping and falling to my knees with every third step. The dog finally decided he was in mortal danger, wriggled free, and crept beside me to the car. It was just as well, I would never had made it up the incline with him. As it was, I had to crawl hand and foot up the slimy ground.

  Boosting the dog into the front seat, I plopped down beside him, little caring about the ruin we made of the rented car. I wiped my hands on my pants and wrung the water from my hair. The clammy drag of my clothes sent shivers coursing through my body.

  I backed the car onto the gravel, and figured my best chance to get up the hill to Minnie’s was to gain as much momentum as possible. So I gunned the motor and sped down the road, gauging my speed so I didn’t need to slow for the turn. So far so good. Then the dog moaned and rolled on his back. I glanced down, and gasped at the bloody mass on his stomach. Without thinking, my foot jammed the brake, and all I could do was hang on as the car slid sideways off the hill and into the ditch, thankful we hadn’t been higher up the hill.

  I pulled the dog back onto the seat and examined his belly. It was a mess. Bloody weal’s criss-crossed the tender skin. Not only had the dog been cruelly tied, someone had beat the poor thing with a whip or stick. Why would anyone dare do such a thing so close to the house? They must have known anyone in hearing distance would come running.

  The thought hung there, practically visible, stabbing me with needles of apprehension. Had someone wanted me out of the house? Why?

  Not stopping for answers, I scrambled out of the car, arms and legs propelling me like a cyclone up the hill. All I could think of was Minnie, asleep and vulnerable on the couch. An overwhelming sense of danger pushed me through whipping rain that cut icily to my skin. Wind snapped the treetops, and filled the air with wailing groans that blended with mounting rolls of thunder.

  Thick gumbo mud clung to my shoes like cement weights, sending me into a nightmare struggle of slow-motion until I couldn’t lift either foot and fell forward. My hands sank wrist deep into the mud.

  I loosed my hands and pulled my feet from my hopelessly mired shoes. Barefoot, I staggered on, each step a sucking horror, the icy muck filled with sharp flakes of stone that bit into the tender skin between my toes.

  I reached the top with screaming muscles, and lungs barely able to pull in enough air, then found better footing on patches of weeds and ran to the house, not sure why I was running, only wanting to reach Minnie.

  My mud-caked feet slid on the polished floor of the hallway. Uncaring, I raced across the parlor carpet to the office.

  “Minnie,” I called, grabbing for the door frame. “Minnie!”

  But Minnie was gone.

  Twelve

  Dazed, I walked through the office to the kitchen, then out the other entry into the hall. The bathroom door was open. Empty. Into the great room, hurrying again, I tried to stem a sense of rising panic. Up the stairs. I called her name, raced through the rooms.

  Outside, I thought, and flew back down the stairs. She probably went outside for something, got caught in the rain, and was waiting in the barn for the downpour to stop.

  I cringed when the shock of wind-blown rain hit, as if it were my first time out. The sky had turned a sickly yellow-green. The gnarled cottonwood popped and moaned, straining against the wind.

  I ran directly to the barn, truly expecting to find Minnie standing patiently in the open door. She wasn’t there. I looked everywhere, my bare feet partially protected by caked mud. Minnie’s old Buick was parked in the shed, but she was nowhere in sight. I moved as quickly as possible, checked all the buildings, and even found myself stupidly lifting collapsed boards.

  Max. Go get Max. I had enough sense to know I couldn’t go that far barefoot. I took overshoes from the back entry, pulled them on over the mud, and set off in a peculiar gait that was all I had left, a kind of jogging on one foot, walking on the other. I followed the same path I’d used that morning and avoided the worst mud by treading as much as possible on the grass and weeds along the fence line.

  Fortunately, the storm concentrated its energy on releasing tons of water rather than dangerous displays of lightning, but the going wasn’t easy. By the time I reached the glen, exhaustion had set in, and I hardly wasted a glance on it. There was no magic left; the jewels had disappeared with the sun, and the dead trees, shorn of their dignity, gleamed obscenely in the scummy storm light. Finally I saw the pickup, and ran towards it, clutching the stitch in my side. The door shot open and Max stepped out, sensibly clad in a bright yellow slicker and a sodden hat.

  I stumbled toward him.

  “Thea!” He caught me in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

  “Minnie!” I clung to him, gasping for breath, relieved by his presence.

  He gripped my arms and held me away from his shoulder to look at my face. “What happened?”

  I began to shiver uncontrollably. “I’m not sure.” The words tore at my throat like a rasp, fighting my lungs for air. “She’s gone.”

  He shook me a little, as if he could tumble my words into a sensible pattern.

  “What do you mean, gone?” He hauled the long stick, bolts and hand tools he’d been working with out of the cab, and threw them in the back of the tr
uck.

  I crawled inside, grappling with an inability to express the menace I’d felt. “It was horrible. First she was asleep. Then someone beat the dog, whipped him, to get me out of the house. And…”

  Max pulled an old flannel-lined jean jacket from behind the seat. “Here,” he said roughly. He draped it around my shoulders and pulled me to him. He wiped my face dry with a greasy rag from the floor and sopped some of the water from my hair.

  I recoiled from the acrid odor. “Don’t you have a hanky?”

  He glanced impatiently at the filthy rag and threw it back on the floor. “You’re reviving. Hurry now, tell me what happened so I can understand.”

  He tucked me tightly to his side and reached under the jacket to rub warmth into my back with his strong hands. I warmed to his touch and forced myself to concentrate.

  I began slowly, starting with the trip to Enrights, step by step, trying not to leave anything out.

  “That hill, Max, it was horrible. When I realized someone must have beaten the dog to get me out of the house, I tried to run up the hill, but it kept pulling me back.”

  “It’s all right.” His hands had lost their impersonal touch. One softly stroked my spine, the other kneaded the base of my neck, and when he spoke his voice was husky. “When you reached the house?”

  “Minnie wasn’t there.”

  “You looked?”

  “Everywhere. In all the rooms.”

  “Could someone have come by and picked her up? Like Helby or Potts?”

  “You mean while I was looking for the dog?” Could they have? “I don’t think there was time. If they came from Enright’s direction they would have passed me. No, wait. There weren’t any car tracks on the hill other than mine and, believe me, no one could have duplicated the ones I made.”

  He set me aside, gently, and asked, “You okay now? We better get back.” He started the motor. “Did you look outside?”

  “Yes, everywhere. And, oh dear, I left the dog in my car. I didn’t shut the door, so he might have crawled away somewhere. Do you suppose he’s all right?”

  “He’s probably holed up some place where he feels safe.”

  Our progress was dreadfully slow. The tires dug deeply into the mud, strained for every inch of ground they gained, or slithered wildly off-track. Max swore and I found myself trying to urge the truck along its path with body language. Tension began to build again. My stomach tightened.

  The rain beat on the truck and nearly hid the house from our sight. It was only three o’clock, but it looked like twilight. I wished I’d left some lights on. We pulled up by the back door and shot out of the truck like springs to race through the torrent.

  Max kicked off his overshoes at the kitchen door, but I couldn’t be bothered with such niceties, and hurried to Minnie’s office, calling her name.

  “You see,” I said. “She’s gone. Somebody got her.”

  “Who?”

  “How should I know?” My voice sounded shrill. “Whoever beat the dog, whatever madman is running around out there.” I began to shiver again.

  “Stop that,” Max said. “You don’t even know if there was a man.” He shoved me none-too-gently into a chair and pulled off the overshoes.

  “Whoa!” he said, staring at my mud-caked feet and pants legs. He pulled me up and directed me toward the bathroom.

  “Clean that mud off and change your clothes, you’re soaking wet.” When I just stood there, numbly clutching my shaking body, he said, rudely, “Move. Do you want to look like a mud ball the rest of your life?”

  I stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door. Who in hell did he think he was anyway? I’d have hysterics if I damned well pleased.

  I tore at my ruined clothes, revived by anger. What did I know about Max Holman anyway? He could have staged this whole scene himself. Who was to say he was fixing fence all the time I was gone? He could have come back here and done anything he wanted. I’d caught him sneaking around that first night, hadn’t I? A sudden sense of silence sent me racing for the door.

  “Don’t you dare leave this house without me,” I yelled.

  “All right,” he yelled back. “But hurry.” After a moment he cracked the door and tossed in shirt, jeans, and shoes, urging me to hurry again.

  I tried, but my fingers had become strangely inefficient trying to peel the sodden jeans from my legs. I could hear Max banging cupboard doors in the kitchen, looking there for Minnie. And he called me stupid. Then the thought of why. The possibility of something being stuffed…

  Quickly, I stuck my feet under the faucet in the tub, but the mud was incredibly stubborn. Tiny globs of the stuff clung persistently in the strangest places. Finally I gave up and rubbed off what I could with a towel and began to dress.

  “She’s not in the house,” Max said through the door. “I’ve looked everywhere, even through the trap to the attic.”

  I stuck my head out again. “You didn’t get any underwear.”

  “For crissakes!” he erupted.

  “You are the most unpleasant person I’ve ever met!”

  He grinned. “Sorry. This is a little out of my line.”

  “I’ll bet,” I shot back. I wondered what he made of my packed suitcase.

  Finally dressed, I joined Max and said, “I searched the barn loft, in the shed where her car is parked, every place I could think of. And I called out, too.”

  “Well, I’ll check them again. I don’t know what else to do, Thea.”

  We went silently to the back entry. Max shrugged back into his yellow slicker and handed me the light plastic raincoat that hung from another hook.

  “Minnie’s?” I asked. He nodded dourly, and I’m sure we were both thinking the same thing. If Minnie had gone out, she would have worn the coat herself.

  He picked up a flashlight, and I followed him out the door, pausing under the minimal shelter of the cottonwood to button the flopping ends of the coat. I twisted away from the wind and found myself staring at the humpy bulk of the old dugout.

  “Max, wait,” I called, halting his steps towards the barn. “I didn’t look in the dugout.” I hurried across the rain-slicked grass and down the crude wooden stairs. An inch of water puddled the ground in front of the door.

  “Watch out!” Max called, as he slid down the stairs behind me, knocking me into the door. He took my arm and gave me a concerned look. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” I said with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” And I was. No more hysterics. I’d had my first and last case of nervous shock, if I had anything to say about it. What if Minnie had needed me, what good would I have possibly been?

  Lizards be damned, I thought, and pushed on the door. It didn’t budge. Max lent his shoulder to the task and the door wobbled partially open, then stuck.

  “Here.” Max gave me the flashlight and I scraped through the narrow opening.

  A rush of fetid, fungal air overpowered me. The flashlight beam swung across dark mossy strands hanging from the earthen ceiling and rickety shelves laced with webs. Then the light glanced the floor and picked out Minnie’s recumbent form lying still behind the door.

  “Max! She’s here!” I dropped the light and eased her away from the door so he could push his way through. Her skin felt cool and damp, and I thought I heard a soft gasp of breath from her lips.

  “Let’s get her out of here, “ Max said, and gathered her up in his arms.

  I shoved the door open as far as possible and steadied Max from behind as he struggled up the slick stairs with his awkward burden. Then I ran ahead to open doors and get some blankets.

  “Just put her on the floor while I get the truck,” he said.

  I made a pallet and he laid her on it. I wrapped another blanket around her. Her face was as gray as putty and looked oddly misshapened, though I couldn’t see any bruises.

  “What happened to her?” I asked, more to fill the silence than anything.

  “I don’t know, but I’m gettin
g her to the hospital as quickly as I can.”

  “Are there any wounds, or broken bones?”

  “No,” he said sharply.

  I glanced up quickly, but his face was shadowed by his hat. How was he so sure? I hadn’t seen him examine her in any way.

  “Get a couple more blankets,” he said.

  I stood, mired once more in a flood of suspicion. Why hadn’t he bothered to look her over? Because he already knew? Or wanted to hide something from me? Had he really been working in the field all afternoon?

  Max raised his head and stared at me; his mouth hardened into a grim line as he slowly got to his feet. My hand flew to my throat. I stepped back, but stood my ground. Under the circumstances, I considered Minnie’s well-being my responsibility.

  He glared at me, eyes narrowed and coldly reptilian. Wordlessly, he strode from the room. I dropped to Minnie’s side as I listened to his steps recede up the staircase. I checked again for the faint heartbeat, and pulled the blanket away from her arms and hands, looking for cuts, bruises, anything unusual. When he returned, I was tucking the cover back around her. He kept his distance; he was only a dark, shadowed figure in the fading light. My heart thudded miserably even though I’d detected nothing further amiss with Minnie.

  He dropped the extra blankets by my feet, and went out.

  The angry mesh of gears rent the air as he slammed them back and forth, rocking the truck through the mud.

  Then he was back. He brushed past me as if I didn’t exist. Water shedding from his slicker spread in rivulets onto the floor. He threw an extra blanket over his shoulder, gathered Minnie up in his arms, pallet and all, and headed out again.

  I followed, shielding her face from the rain and helped to settle her on the deep seat. Her feet would have to lie on Max’s lap, which was just as well. “Keep her head down and her feet up in case of shock,” I said.