by Jill Behe
“I do remember a hunter’s jacket, with the orange vest, ya know? And one of those big dorky-looking aviator hats. The kind with the funny earflaps? About the knife?” Her chest heaved. “Big. Ugly. I don’t know much about them, but it looked like one my dad used to use for, um, gutting big game.”
“Any idea how tall this guy was?”
She gave a watery shrug. “Maybe to your shoulders. I couldn’t tell if he was fat or skinny with all that bulkiness to his clothes. Heavy winter boots, hunter’s boots, um, brown, with that white furry stuff coming out the tops.”
“Your supervisor’s name?”
“Oh, um.” The question seemed to catch her off guard. “Henderson. Alberta Henderson.”
“All right. Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
Wyatt flipped the little book closed and looked at me. “Time to round up Rick.”
My head tilted. “You’re not going to talk to anyone else?”
“Not right now. Right now, we need to get to the office, and I need to organize a manhunt.”
He started down the hall, leaving me standing there with my jaw on my chin, questions needing to be released, and a deep crease in the middle of my forehead. Hmm.
Then he stopped, looked back.
“Come to think of it. Go corral the brothers and have them follow us. They can keep you company while Rick and I go hunting.” Then he continued toward the elevators. “And hurry up. I’ll be in the Jeep.”
With half-formed questions backing up in my throat, I stared at his retreating physique. If I’d had a better handle on the situation, I’d’ve greatly admired that retreating physique. As it was, a good head smack is what I had in mind.
CHAPTER 54
PLOTTING THE RESCUE
BACK AT THE OFFICE, we all powwowed in the conference room—including Jarrod, Will, and Abel—to hash out a battle strategy. Wyatt wasn’t happy about having ‘civilians’ in on it, but at the same time (I’m pretty sure), he understood their reasons for wanting to be there.
“But you stay as far back as possible. I can’t be responsible for any of you getting hurt.”
Abel’s hands went up. “Hang on. She’s our sister.”
Wyatt stood and pointed. “Look. I appreciate the emotional adrenalin y’all are running on, but at some point that tends to take over, or worse, runs out, and then bad things happen. Please try to look at it from my side. If anything happens, it’s my ass on the line. Rick and I are the ones with the badges. If you go off on a tangent, I may end up having to arrest you.”
“We want to help you find her, that’s all.” Jarrod gave his younger brother a warning look. “Right?”
The kid shrugged. “Sure. Fine.”
I cleared my throat. “Might I interject a smidge?”
Wyatt nodded.
My nose wrinkled. “Well, first, I want you to know that what I’m about to say is really really hard for me.” All eyes were riveted. I swallowed.
My face was probably the color of a Santa suit, but hey, some thing’s gotta be said, even if the ego (even a healthy one) takes a hit. “Now I realize the possibility of this nitwit doing an end run back here, just to get to me, is astronomical. But, if all y’all go on the hunt, I’m going to be here all by myself. A few months ago, that wouldn’t have been a problem, because I take pride in being independent. But now? Now it’s a problem. I do not want to be here by myself. All alone. And I can’t believe you’ll be taking me along with you.” I blinked over at my man.
He wasn’t smirking, or mocking.
Good.
Actually, he looked very concerned.
Uh, oh.
Now I’m tearing up. Drat! I hate that.
“Abel. Stay here with Maggie.”
The kid stared at his brother, mouth gaping.
“You heard me.”
Will jumped in when it looked like Abel was going to explode. “Besides dude, if that bastard does show up here, you’ll be the hero for saving our Miss Maggie.”
Abel shut his mouth and looked at me. “Huh. Okay then.”
I rolled my eyes.
Just what I needed, a cocky macho just past post-teen.
Wyatt stretched across the table to shake his hand.
And the peacock gave his feathers a shake.
Geez.
Then Wyatt took back command. “Rick, grab your gear. We’ll head out to Grover’s Bridge.” He gestured to Jarrod and Will. “You two head towards that place you’re renting, and keep making left turns once you go past it. We’ll meet up in the middle, as they say. You got a cell?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We both have phones.”
“Good. Here’s my number. Program it into speed dial. If you see anything, call me. ASAP! Got it? No hot-dogging.”
“Right. Got it.”
“Let’s go.” Wyatt shooed them out of the office.
I followed slower. “Wyatt?”
He turned, buckling on his gun belt. “Yeah?”
“I have a very, very bad feeling about this.”
He gave me a hug. “I know, Maggie. Me, too, but I don’t have a choice. There’s a life at stake. Two, counting you. And I don’t want anything happening to you, or her, if I can help it.”
“I get that. Just, please, please, please, be careful.”
“As much as I can.” He leaned in for a kiss—which he never does before going out on a call (okay, but rarely). Made me realize how much he felt it, too.
I gave him a worried look. “I love you, ya know.”
“And I love you.” He winked, and followed the others out the door.
Abel looked over at me.
Grim.
Yes, very grim.
CHAPTER 55
NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!
HALF AN HOUR LATER, the base radio squawked.
“Maggie. Wyatt, here.”
The SUV engine was loud in the background, and I could hear the siren.
Abel and I both ran. Pain be damned. “Go ahead.”
“We found ’em. Call Dodge Peters. Tell him to meet us at the gate to Miller’s Pond. And call the ER dispatch for an ambulance. Sorry. Can’t go into detail, but we might just need one of them, or both, soon.”
“Roger.”
“Those idiots! What the hell are they— Maggie, make it quick! Out!”
“Wyatt!”
Abel grabbed a chair. “What the hell’s happening?”
I hurried (Ow!) to the phone and dialed. The kid would have to figure it out for himself. I didn’t have time to tell him.
“Dodge is in the house! What’s up?”
“It’s Maggie! Wyatt just called in, he needs you out at the gate to Miller’s Pond. As soon as you can get there, or sooner.”
“Roger that. I’m gone.”
And he was.
I hung up and dialed the emergency dispatch. “This is Maggie Mercer, Mossy Creek Police. An ambulance is needed out near the gate at Miller’s Pond. I don’t know any details. Police Chief Madison just called in.”
“Roger that. We’re on our way.”
With the phone cradled once more, I circled the desk and sat.
Hurting in more ways than one.
Rocking.
Waiting.
“Is it always like this?” Abel’s voice was whispery scared.
Looked over, noted the pale features. “Never just like this.”
“Will he let us know what’s going on?”
I took a breath. “When he can.”
“But—” He looked as confused as he sounded.
My shoulders moved, helpless. “I’ve never been in this situation before, not exactly. My belly’s all knotted up and my whole body’s shaking. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“How can you stand it?”
Ten minutes later the radio sounded again. “Base? Dodge here. You there?”
Skidding to a stop, hissing in pain as I grabbed at the mic, knocking it over. Crud!
“This is base. Go ahead.
”
“Maggie, we’re gonna need the county cops. We got a bad situation here.”
My mind went blank, but the professional me took over. It had to, I was in no shape to deal with what I could only imagine had happened. “Same location?”
Where was Wyatt? Why wasn’t he on the radio?
“Yup. And, get yourself to the ER. Brace yourself, kid.”
“What—”
“Oh God! OhGodohGodohGod! I gotta go!”
“Dodge!”
Then I was looking up at Abel. How had he gotten so tall?
“M-ma’am? You, you okay?” He was on his knees next to me, looking scared out of his mind, but trying to be brave. “Take some deep breaths. Just slow and easy. In and then out. Slow, slow. That’s it.”
My breath was coming back. The dizziness was clearing. Everything hurt, including my brain. “Dear Lord in Heaven.”
“Don’t faint on me, please, ma’am? Just, don’t faint.”
I shook my head, slowly. “Help me up. First I call County. Then we’re going to the hospital.”
Jesus give me strength. I think I might die from fright.
CHAPTER 56
A FEW MONTHS LATER
HERE’S a little rundown of things that have taken place since we last had contact. I’d’ve let you know sooner, but I’ve been too much of a mess emotionally. It was hard to live through, let alone talk about.
A bit later, though.
I did go back to have my elbow X-rayed again. It wasn’t broken, not even a hairline fracture. But geez, the pain sure took its sweet time going away. Doc said I’d probably need some physical therapy to get the full range of motion back, but with all the chaos going on, I haven’t had time to think about that, yet.
My hip is fine, until a storm comes up, then I feel it … big time.
Activity at the library has increased since Miss Vera-Mae took up her post as Head Librarian. Could have something to do with the big changes in the way things are run, and the addition of some Saturday and later evening hours. Councilman Talbot has been visiting quite often, too, so I’ve heard, more so than when he held that position. The smitten septuagenarian stops by most days with little gifts—small bouquets, boxes of Gertrude Hawke candies, and short little sonnets, among other things. I can’t say she’s similarly infatuated, but my favorite former teacher is slowly warming to the idea of having a suitor.
“Nothing wrong with that,” I told her.
Jonas Talbot wouldn’t be on my list of potential dates, but he must have some charm under that nervous exterior.
Gladiola and Roberto’s secret romance isn’t so secret anymore. They had a very public romantic dinner at The Inn at the End last Friday. Do I hear wedding bells ringing in the near future for them, too? She looks to be wearing some jewelry on her significant finger.
Tongues are flapping.
Can’t keep the grapevine quiet for long.
Jarrod has been in contact with Lavender about sending some of his collection for her to sell. On consignment, of course.
Speaking of Lavender, there is still no sign of her missing merchandise. She contacted our office. Her employees are not to blame, of that she is confident, but her insurance company needs a police report to support her claim. We’re looking into the matter more seriously.
In case you were wondering about Gladiola’s daughter, remember I told you she was about to pop? Ivy gave birth to a son, Stephanotis.
Yes, it is a flower.
Go look it up!
Wyatt and I made a point to hash out a date for the wedding.
Whoo!
We’re almost there.
Oh, don’t worry, I’ll let you know when in plenty of time.
My belly gets all knotted up—though it’s been that way a lot in the past coupla months—when I think of how much planning and work there is to do. Wyatt thinks it’s funny. He had the nerve to throw my grand gesture in my face. “And who, pray tell, was the one who wanted to invite the whole town?”
Okay, yes, it was me, but I’m rapidly re-thinking my impulsiveness. I don’t want to disappoint his fan club, but a quiet family-and-a-few-friends event is beginning to have a lot more appeal, mainly financially, but especially in lieu of all that’s happened. Besides, it’s the second marriage for both of us. It wouldn’t be ‘seemly’ to have a huge wedding.
I hear you smirking. Just remember, I haven’t made out my final invitation list yet.
Deciding whom to ask to be bridesmaids, or even how big a wedding party there should be, is proving to be more difficult than expected, too. I’m cogitating on a matron of honor and one bridesmaid.
Well, maybe two.
Haven’t picked out a dress, yet, either. Haven’t had time. And, no, white will not be a color choice. I may be a lot of things, but I try my hardest not to be a hypocrite. Pale creamy peach is a very nice alternative, so is Ivory, and either one a much more flattering shade for me. Now all I have to do is find it.
Purple would be excellent, but….
So far, neither of our mothers has tried to actually take over the planning. They make waves, and their hints are more than subtle at times, but for the most part, they’re leaving it up to us.
Keep your fingers crossed this thing won’t swallow us whole.
The boys and Wyatt are getting along very well. I had no doubts. I believe they’ve adopted each other. Makes my heart go all warm and fuzzy when I see them together.
Gage and Dawson’s visits are more frequent, when their work schedules allow. Wyatt plays football in the backyard with them—mostly just passing the ball around, weather and pain permitting—or they have mega-battles on the PS3. Sometimes Ricky joins them. Very competitive all around.
Wyatt’s been in contact with Mac Richards about initiating Gage and Dawson into the Binger’s club. Ricky, too. They’re set for their first boys-night-out the second Friday in April. The date’s tentative.
My man is in pretty good shape, considering, but the guys do wear him out. The rooster can still strut his stuff, but his energy level isn’t back to normal yet. It is coming back.
Gage healed nicely, with no after affects from his ordeal. Dawson says there was a gaggle of females following his brother around constantly after they (somehow) found out he had a ‘war wound.’ Huh. A girl from the apartment below theirs ingratiated herself into the scenario, making sure Gage was well taken care of with offerings of homemade chicken noodle soup, chocolate chip cookies, and of course, her company.
She’s still visiting.
He’s still letting her.
And I have yet to meet her. Not certain how I feel about that.
Of course he’s a grown man, but he’s still my son, and….
Oh, hush.
Dawson will be soon be starting tryouts for the girl’s track team. He’s really looking forward to it. I hope he isn’t in over his head. Lancy tells me that at the last school assembly, to introduce all the coaches for the spring and summer programs, all the girls in the audience swooned en masse when Dawson greeted the audience. There are seventy-five girl’s names on the roster already, and the number goes up every day. I didn’t realize there were that many female students in our middle and high schools.
Lancy’s cheerleaders are griping because they can’t try out for the team.
I know the boy’s handsome, and that I’m prejudiced, but…. Teenage girls will go after— They better not make trouble for—
Never mind.
We had to postpone the kid’s birthday party, due to extenuating circumstances (that I’ll go into in more detail later). He wasn’t disappointed, but we will make up for the delay.
Yes, I realize he’s not a kid anymore, but we still celebrate the day … balloons and all.
On a different note: Luther Hornsby was moved to solitary confinement for beating up his cellmate at the county jail. I guess, since he didn’t have access to a bat, or any mailboxes, he used his fists and a substitute. He’s due to be arraigned on the ne
w charges next week.
Serves him right, the big bully.
It was a great season for The Chute. All in all, our decision to include the three other communities in our annual ice event at the lake was the best one we’ve made in a long time. I say ‘we’ like it was all my idea instead of the borough council’s.
You know what I mean.
The ladies auxiliary had to restock their little huts four times on opening day alone. And, even after that scary first Sunday when Gage got … shot, the steady stream of tobogganers didn’t diminish. Morbid curiosity actually boosted the number of attendees, so they said.
Go figure.
Borough Council still hasn’t decided on the nominations for a new mayor. I’m beginning to think Elias Heckman is enjoying his temporary position a little too much. Just my opinion, you understand. I wouldn’t be surprised to see his name on the ballot come election time.
Bruce Prescott has recently been spending a lot of time with Heather Riordan. I have no idea how that came about, or how it’s going to unfold, but at least he’s stopped moping around about not seeing through Sybil’s guise. Anyway, I’ve seen the fledgling twosome a few times. They complement each other very nicely.
Pansy Nash’s poodle, Petunia, threw seven pups. And before I tell you what kind they were, you need to remember that a female dog can be impregnated by more than one male dog during her heat.
So here goes. There were three black and white cockapoos, two brindle Great DaNoodles (I know, right? Geez.), one gorgeous blonde wavy-haired labradoodle, and one we’ll have to wait and see about when he gets older. Might be Shepherd, or maybe a Husky. Hard to tell.
Obviously, Miss Petunia got around, if you know what I mean!
No hounds, though.
Miss Pansy, mortified at the variety, is giving them away ... CHEAP! They’re all adorable. Wyatt and I have talked about getting a dog, as we’re both greatly concerned with my safety. I’m not a fan of poodles, though.
But, they’re all so so cute. That labradoodle, in particular.
Then again, there’s that mystery mutt.
Cletus Konderchek got the results back on Redbone’s test. The dog is sterile—poor baby.
Cletus felt so bad about what happened, he offered, again, to pay for Petunia’s spaying. Miss Pansy turned him down, again, very politely.
