by RP Dahlke
When he was satisfied that my wrists were bound to the arms of the chair, and my feet couldn't be used against him, he ordered her to stand up.
Looking up at him through very blue eyes swimming in tears, her lower lip trembling, in her breathy, little-girl whisper she said, "I'll do anything you want, but please don't hurt me." Then she raised her face, licked her lips, and ducked her head down on to his shoulder. "Please?"
Oh God, please let her be acting.
He pulled her to his chest and with a throaty growl, said, "Looks like I got myself a little alley cat and she's in heat. You come to the right place then, 'cause I'm ready for some action."
She looked up into his face and purred, "You're right about that, baby, and I got a condom or two in my purse just for you."
Her purse? Now we were talking.
He held on to her arm with one hand, grabbed her purse with the other, and pushed her into the bedroom.
I heard shuffling, some moaning, and then his muttered curses as he rummaged around in her purse looking for the condoms. Then Pearlie's soft purring, "You know how women's purses are, full of this an' that. You lay back and relax, baby. I'll get it and then I'll slide it on so we can get us some action."
I held my breath, waiting through the silence, hoping against hope that Pearlie would—
"You bitch!"
I held my breath as I heard a wild yell, and then gunfire. One shot, then two.
Then it was quiet. Too quiet.
"Pearlie?" I whispered.
She staggered out of the door, her feet bare, her sundress askew and the buttons undone. "I—I think I killed him," she said, her voice shaking. "But I can't stand to be in there another minute to find out."
She put the gun on a side table, dropped to the floor, and fumbled with the edges of the duct tape.
"Pearlie, honey," I said, gently, "you did great, but forget about me, and call 9-1-1 first, will you?"
She stood up and sleepwalked to the phone. She picked it up and hesitated. "Where are we anyways?"
"Tell them Burdell Smith's place out on King's Ranch Road. Tell them to call Sheriff Caleb Stone. And, Pearlie, for now, let's not mention anything about the aero-ag school." I was going to have to play this just right, or Caleb would blow his top.
<><><><>
We were on the couch going over the last details of today's incident with the local sheriff when Caleb walked in with Detective Rodney. I stood up and went to him, expecting comfort and maybe a tight squeeze. Instead, he gripped my shoulder and gave it a little shake. "And this was something you couldn't leave for the pros?"
I jerked out of his grip. "The pros? Where were the pros when Burdell needed help?" I was shocked that he would arrive and consider this my fault. In my fury, my voice went up another octave. "I stopped by to see my dad's old friend and ended up fighting off a killer. And all you can say is why couldn't I leave it to the pros?" My hand itched to reach out and slap him.
Caleb flinched at the spitting vehemence in my voice, and backed off to talk to the sheriff. I sank down again on the couch next to Pearlie, and she said, "You tell 'em, Lalla."
I watched Detective Rodney circle the room, picking up furniture, looking under tables. "Quite a fight here. You sure it was just you two girls, or did you have help?"
Pearlie jerked up off the couch. "We were defending ourselves!"
No one was going to question the right of a small, helpless blonde to defend herself from a killer and a rapist. The local sheriff nodded his admiration of my cousin's gumption. He did, however, take her gun. "It will be put through the usual for ballistics, miss, sorry."
Pearlie reluctantly watched her small pink-handled pistol go into a plastic evidence bag. "You're wasting your time. It was the other guy's gun that killed Burdell Smith."
When their heads were turned, I gave Pearlie a nice thumbs-up and mouthed, "Good job, Pearlie."
Chapter Seventeen:
Exhausted after feeding the same story to the Sacramento County Sheriff, we were released with the promise to be available for further interviews.
Caleb leaned on the driver's side of my caddy. "You don't have to drive, you know."
He was trying to make up, but Caleb's earlier bullying had left shards of hurt under my skin. "Pearlie's a bit fragile right now," I said stiffly. "The backseat of a police car could finally send her around the bend."
Caleb accepted my excuse, but still insisted we caravan to Modesto so he could drop the detective off, then he'd see us out to the ranch.
Pearlie silently slid into the passenger seat. When we were buckled up, I shifted into gear and we got behind Caleb's cruiser.
I glanced over at her. "You okay?"
She spit out a piece of fingernail, and examined the wretched state of what was left of her manicure. "I'm thinking about dumping my job with Granny."
"What?"
"I had that creep in the palm of my hand. With my acting skills and good looks I should be in Hollywood."
"Uh-huh. Tell me that tomorrow."
"Why? I'm stoked."
"That's the adrenaline talking, Pearlie. Give it a few hours and you'll be bawling like a baby. I've been there, I know."
"Not me. You think I'm gonna go all weepy about some creep who tries to rape me? Huh, not a chance."
"You were great, Pearlie. I'm really proud of you."
She looked out the window at the passing scenery. Nothing much to look at except for a long line of fence posts with nothing but monotonous grassland undulating in wave after wave of brown hillocks. The Sierras to the east were patterned a hazy blue. Jackson was up there, home of the original Forty-niners' gold rush, now boutique wineries, chic galleries, bed and breakfast inns, and dude ranches.
Pearlie had gotten way too quiet. I started to say something that would fill the silence in the car, but couldn't think of a thing to say. I felt beaten, inside and out. It was strange; I could hold my own with a man who wanted to kill me, but when Caleb chastised me for taking what he saw as unnecessary chances, I crumbled.
Pearlie, her voice still hoarse from the earlier yelling, said, "I was sixteen when my folks died in that car crash. You know they never told me I had any relatives at all? That's an incredibly selfish thing to do to a kid, don't you think? Even if you are only a second cousin, you're better'n nothin'. I was mad at my parents for dying, mad that my granny didn't even come to the funeral, not that she knew about it in time. I lied and told the lawyer I needed money for a trip to Texas to see her. He should've seen to it that I got on a plane, but I think he was just glad to have me out of his hair. I took the money and ran off with a bunch of hopheads, that is until my cash ran out, and the guys started on me to contact the lawyer for more. When I wouldn't, they held me down, shot me up, and raped me. If I had had a gun, then that argument woulda turned out different. I hitched a ride with another bunch of kids. College kids, not dopers, and they took me all the way to Granny's ranch, and wouldn't accept gas money. I guess there are some good people in the world after all."
"I had no idea."
"Tell anyone and I'll deny it."
"Don't worry, I won't say anything."
"Good, 'cause that sort of thing don't look good on a girl's résumé when you're trying to get a man to commit."
Oh, boy. Pearlie and Mad Dog. Again. I opened my mouth to tell her Mad Dog was still married, then decided not to ruin her high.
"This ride didn't do anything to convince me otherwise. And no, I ain't worried that his soon-to-be ex-wife is going to come around and mess with our fun. They don't have children and she hasn't lived with him for years, but do you think she would set him free so he could have a life? What a bitch!"
Pearlie's nerves were about to pop. "Pearlie, when we get home I'll give you a nice stiff drink, and put you in a tub of hot water with my favorite bath oil."
"Don't bother, I won't need it." She reached over and turned on the radio, flipping country western to a conservative talk show, to a rock 'n' roll station. It went on li
ke this for the rest of the drive home.
<><><><><>
I handed Pearlie off to Aunt Mae, and then told my dad about his friend Burdell.
He blanched and backed away, waving his hands in front of his face as if he could erase the onslaught of grief that was about to envelope him.
I took a step closer, unsure if he wasn't having another heart attack. "I'm awfully sorry, Daddy. Is there anything I can do?"
His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, and he was working hard not to let me see it. "You can close the door behind you and leave me alone."
I did as he asked and as I was closing the door, I saw him collapse into his Barcalounger, the one that was just like Burdell Smith's.
I went out to the porch to talk to Caleb.
He had his boots up on the rail, a cold beer in his hand. He reached down and brought up another open bottle and silently handed it to me.
When our hands met, he noticed the swelling on my ring finger, put down his feet, and took my hand in his.
"My God, Lalla, you didn't say you were hurt. Did that bastard do this?"
I drew my hand out of his. "It was an accident, Caleb. I couldn't tell you in front of all those strangers, but before we went to Burdell's we were at the flight school. I talked to the only two employees; one of them was Clark Sullivan. Yes, the one Pearlie shot. I tried to stop him from leaving, and my ring finger got stuck in his door handle."
I held up the fingers and flexed them. "Not broken. Just bruised." Then I told him about meeting Alvin and Clark Sullivan who was Arthur's drinking buddy. "But I swear to you, I didn't know Clark Sullivan was going to show up at Burdell's."
I could swear till it was dark and the moon hung over our roof, but that didn't mean Caleb believed me. "Do you think I should call the marshal tonight and tell him? It could be the link he needs to prove Nancy innocent."
Caleb sat back and thoughtfully pulled at the paper label on his beer while he did that humming thing he did when he was thinking. "The marshal briefed me on his interview with the flight school employees. He had nothing that indicated either of these guys knew Arthur outside of the job."
Was that a touch of admiration in his voice? But before I could jump on it as reason why I did exactly what I promised not to do, he stood up and pushed at the creases in his pant legs.
"I'll call him tonight. He'll want to talk to the mechanic again. What was his name?"
I stood up too, and hoping to pad my tally of good points, added, "Alvin. He's the mechanic there."
Caleb kissed me on the cheek, and without another word, he left.
I was pretty speechless too, thinking back on the unbelievable day—getting Alvin to tell me that Clark Sullivan was chummy with Arthur, then seeing Clark run off, finding Burdell face down in his pond, and coming on Clark again in the house. He'd killed Burdell and we'd interrupted him while he'd been looking for something. But what?
I waited most of the evening for my cousin to break down and cry from the horror of shooting Burdell Smith's killer. She lasted through dinner, two shots of my dad's Johnny Walker, a hot tub, and finally to bed, all rosy and tipsy in her short pink baby-doll, which thankfully for me, since I put her to bed, included a pair of sweats instead of her usual matching thong.
Around midnight, I heard a sound. I sat up in bed, waiting to hear it again. I counted the minutes and there it was—a moan rising into a cry, and then into a long wail, ending with a sob. My great-aunt's voice, crooning, consoling Pearlie.
I lay down again, and pulling the covers up to my chin, watched as the ghosts from my own nightmares melted back into the woodwork.
Chapter Eighteen:
My cousin Pearlie and I sat at the breakfast table drowsily blowing on our first cups of coffee. She put down her mug. "Why is it that every man I show the least bit of interest in gets put on your growing list of suspects?"
"Keep your voice down, will you? Aunt Mae is trying to sleep." I got up and poured myself another cup. "I know how it sounds, Pearlie, but you have to admit, you just met him yesterday."
"You're one to talk. Yesterday you weren't so sure about Mad Dog, and now it's the ag school owner's son? I have his card. He's a bona fide attorney in Sacramento. Does that sound like the kind of man who would risk a good career for a bribe?"
Make that bribe big enough and I could see any number of people who might take the bait, but I wasn't going to argue the point with my cousin, at least not now. "Pearlie, you were the one who said you wanted to help me prove Nancy innocent."
"I never said that. I said I wanted to know if Mad Dog was lying, but if you're gonna nitpick, let me remind you that I did save your butt yesterday, so I reckon you oughta give me some slack in the man department."
"You're right. And I'm sorry you had to shoot that guy, even if he was a killer."
"If I hadn't, we'd both be dead instead of arguing here in your daddy's kitchen. Mentioning of dead, when are you gonna get a new stove? I know these old Wolf's are guaranteed to last for life, but I think this one busted a gut during the Hoover administration."
I ignored her diatribe on our kitchen equipment. "I presume your granny gave you a sedative."
Her quick shudder told me everything I needed to know about last night's bad dreams. "Okay, just 'cause you say so, I won't accept any dates with the aero-ag owner's son. I was only looking for a way to make Mad Dog jealous anyways."
Now this was interesting. I thought Pearlie had secured Mad Dog's devotion. "He's losing interest?"
"I don't know," she said, pouting. "had to go to Fresno today, check on a sick friend—and you know what that means—he's got another babe on the hook."
Mad Dog visiting a sick friend? Not the Mad Dog I knew. Or, was he visiting someone who'd been shot in the leg and ran out of our house bleeding? Jack Lee Carton, Arthur's killer, the one who convinced Mad Dog to bring him to our barbeque.
"Did you ask if he'd like to have you along for the ride?"
She sniffed. "I already did that. He wasn't interested. Says his friend might be contagious. I hope he gets crabs and herpes!"
"When did you talk to him? Did he leave yet?"
She shrugged, not particularly interested now that his attentions weren't on her.
I pulled out my cell and hit auto dial for his number. While it rang, I considered how I would handle this; appeal to his moral side? I wasn't sure Mad Dog had one. Money—that was the ticket.
When he answered, I said, "Mad Dog. I have your check for this week. You want to swing by and pick it up? You're having lunch at Marie Callender's? I'm on my way into town, how about I drop it off? Sure, not a problem."
I closed the phone. "I'll find out where he's going and let you know."
Pearlie hung on my arm. "Not without me, you're not! I need to know where I stand with this guy."
"Don't be hasty. If he didn't invite you, he won't be happy to see you now."
"I'll be all scooched down in your car. Come on, Lalla, if you don't take me, I'll go nuts."
I thought of another idea, one that might help me find out if my suspicions were right. "Has Mad Dog seen your rental car?"
"No," she said, eyes sparkling. "Great idea. He'll never suspect if we follow him in the rental."
The downside was I would have to involve Pearlie again. "What's Aunt Mae doing right now?"
"What time is it?"
I looked at my watch. "Ten-thirty, why?"
"She's halfway through her morning nap."
"Get the keys. If she wakes up, tell her you're going downtown to shop. And Pearlie, don't stop to put on your damn makeup."
She rolled her lips in and out, considering, I supposed, whether or not it was worth the risk to defy me or miss out on finding out what Mad Dog was up to, and with whom.
<><><><>
Reminding her of her promise to remain out of sight, we pulled into the Marie Callender's parking lot and I got out. Laying low however, didn't preclude Pearlie from yelling out the window. "Don't forget to
find out who he's havin' lunch with!"
Inside the restaurant, Mad Dog leaned out of his booth and waved. I did a quick peek at his lunch partner and automatically recoiled.
"Miz Bains." Detective Rodney tipped his ice tea glass in salute. The detective was doing what—going over details that would seal Nancy's case?
I laid the check next to Mad Dog's plate and said, "Well, nice to see you again, Detective."
I got as far as the exit and Mad Dog tapped me on the shoulder. "Wait up, will you? I don't know what you thought you saw back there, but I was having myself a nice quiet lunch before the detective invited himself to sit down."
The two empty plates on the table said he was lying, but I wasn't going to get into that now, not when I had every intention of finding out who he was meeting in Fresno. "Pearlie asked me to invite you to supper tonight."
I waited while he rubbed a hand across his face in a gesture that said he was feeling caught between a rock and a hard place. Good.
"If you have other plans… "I said, pushing.
"I gotta be in Fresno today for—for a job interview for next season. I'd hate to have Pearlie hold up supper in case I'm late."
I nodded agreeably. "Fresno's only a couple of hours away. If you left now you could be back in time."
"Yeah, sure, that'll work. Might as well make a pit stop, all that ice tea I drank," he said, turning back, probably to finish his conversation with the detective.
I got into the passenger side of the Mustang.
"You'll never guess who he was having lunch with," I said, telling her about the detective sitting in a booth with Mad Dog.
"What about his sick friend in Fresno?"
"This time it's a job interview with another aero-ag company."
"Liar!"
"He's coming out again." I pulled Pearlie down below the window.
Mad Dog hurried for his truck, pulling his keys out of his pocket, then fumbling the lock and dropping the keys on the ground, cursing. He was late, or flustered. But was it because I'd caught him with the detective, or because he was late for his meeting in Fresno? Whoever he was meeting, I knew it wasn't for a job interview.
I told Pearlie to fire up the Mustang and to keep a couple of car lengths behind him.
