Calamity Jayne and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Lawn Gnome (30 page)

Once the dog finished, I got to my feet.

"Come on, Roswell. Take us to Dusty. Come on, boy!"

We followed the dog into a thickly wooded area of timber. I stumbled over a downed tree and almost fell.

"Careful, Joe. It's tricky footing here."

Up ahead about twenty-five feet, Roswell stopped and began to bark.

"Good boy, Roswell! Good boy! I think we found him! Dusty! Dusty!"

I worked my way around another large, downed tree and over to Roswell. When I got on the other side of the tree, I could see Roswell was licking Dusty's face.

"Good boy!" I said. "Good boy!"

"You find him? Is he alive?" Joe asked.

I winced.

Oh, God. I hadn't even thought about that.

I hurried to Dusty, the pungent odor of alcohol more noticeable the closer I got.

"Dusty!"

Dusty lay with his back against the tree trunk, curled up in the fetal position. I dropped to the ground beside him and put a shaking hand to his forehead.

Warm. Very warm.

I put my bag down and grabbed the water bottle and pulled a pair of short white crew socks from the bag. I poured water over one sock and dribbled water over Dusty's face.

"Dusty! It's Tressa. Tressa Turner. Can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me."

I saw his eyelids flicker, and he let out a long, loud, "thank you, God" sigh of relief.

"Dusty, open your mouth and try to swallow," I instructed.

His eyelids flickered again, and his lips parted. I squeezed water into his mouth and on his lips and took the damp sock and wiped his face.

"Woo wee!" Joe said, leaning over me. "Smells like the morning after a binger out here. Is he okay?" Joe said, leaning over my shoulder.

"I can't really tell, but at least he's alive."

"Dusty? Can you hear me? It's Tressa Turner?"

I could see he was trying to focus. He looked like I imagine I do the morning after you've been on the bathroom floor all night hurling in the john.

"Yes. I can hear. You found me. Thank heavens, you found me!" he said, and I knew he was going to be all right.

"Actually Roswell here found you," I said, wiping his face. "He stayed with his master." My chest suddenly felt tight. "Man's best friend."

"Best friend?" Joe whispered in my ear. "He'd have been a better friend to his master if he'd gone for help."

"Joe!"

"The truth hurts, Blondie."

"Help me get him up!"

With Joe's assistance, we helped Dusty to a sitting position.

"Oo! Ow! My foot!" Dusty said. "I think I broke it."

He accepted the water bottle and emptied the contents. I handed him another one, and he drained it.

"What happened, Dusty?" I said. "The police were out here looking for you."

His eyes became wide and scared, his gaze moving like a crazed, cornered animal.

"They came for me," he said.

I frowned. "The police?"

"No. Them!"

"Who them?"

"Them! The Ones."

"The…ones?"

He leaned in my direction.

"The invaders," he whispered. "That night. After you left. They came back. They came back for me."

I felt Joe's hand descend on my shoulder like a vice.

"Did he say invaders?"

"They came for me, and I ran. But I fell. Why didn't they take me?" he asked. "Why?"

"Maybe this is why," Joe said. I looked up at him. He held an empty bottle of vodka.

I frowned. That explained the bar stench. And, perhaps more.

"How much have you had to drink, Dusty?" I asked. "The EMTs are going to need to know."

He looked up at me.

"Just what you gave me. That's all I've had to drink since I fell."

I shook my head.

"No, Dusty. I mean, alcohol." I picked the bottle up. "How much alcohol have you had to drink?"

He stared at the bottle.

"Where'd that come from?"

"Here. Joe found it."

"Joe? Joe who?"

"Joe Townsend. He sold insurance to your grandparents."

"He did?"

I nodded.

"That's strange. I'm pretty sure they're dead."

"No. I meant he sold insurance to them before, when they were alive."

Dusty frowned and looked at Joe.

"Do I need insurance?" Dusty asked.

"Never mind. Don't worry about that, Dusty. What the medics will need to know is how much alcohol you consumed."

"None."

"None?"

He tried to shake his head.

"I don't drink."

"What about the bottle, Dusty? And you smell kind of like you're…fermenting."

"I told you. I don't drink. Never have. It dulls the senses. Makes you vulnerable…you know. To
them
."

I looked up at Joe. This time he did the cuckoo sign with his finger at his temple.

"Okay, Dusty. We're going to get you help. Just sit tight, take sips of the water, and rest. We're getting help."

I pulled my cell phone out and hit 9-1-1. The call wouldn't go through. I checked the bars. No signal.

"I'll try mine," Joe said, getting the same results.

"Dead zone," Dusty said, his voice hoarse and raspy.

"You got through to me," I told him, and he frowned, a puzzled look on his face. "Where's your phone?"

"It's here somewhere, but it's useless. I told you. It's a dead zone."

"You can quit saying that any time," Joe said.

I looked around and found his phone near where he'd been lying.

"Here it is!"

"I told you, it's no use. I tried to call until the battery ran down."

"Hold on. What? That can't be," I said. "You just called me."

He tried to shake his head, but apparently it took too much effort.

"I've been out cold for hours," he said.

I hit the power button on Dusty's phone. The phone lit up. The battery showed it five percent charged.

"It was dead!" Dusty said. "It was dead!"

I hit buttons until I found the outgoing call log.

There it was—a twenty-second call to my number at 1035 hours.

"It's here, Dusty. In your call log. You must've made the call."

"I didn't. I couldn't," he said.

I patted his hand.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter. What matters now is getting you medical attention."

I tried 9-1-1 on his phone.

No bars. No signal.

What the heck?

"Told you," Dusty said.

I got to my feet and tried again.

No signal.

We tried each of the phones again.

No luck.

I took Joe to the side.

"We can't carry this guy. Not as weak as he is."

"Or as big as he is," Joe added. "Or as drunk."

"One of us is going to have to take an ATV and ride until we get a signal and call 9-1-1."

"One of us?"

"Okay. You," I said. "I'll stay with Dusty."

Joe nodded.

"Roger. I'll be back with help ASAP! Should we synchronize our watches?"

"I think we're good. Just go!"

"Ten-four!" he said and clicked his heels and saluted. "I'm on it!"

 I shook my head. Looked like Joe was going to get his glory after all. I said a little prayer until I heard the sound of the ATV starting up and getting fainter and fainter.

I dug in my bag and grabbed an energy bar and handed it to Dusty.

"Go easy there," I warned, and pulled out the first aid kit and started cleaning and applying antiseptic to his cuts and scratches. I'd leave the ankle to the professionals.

I watched as color returned to his face, and his eyes appeared brighter. Periodically, I tried to get out on our phones with no success. I remembered the police scanner I'd borrowed from my dad and grabbed it and turned it on. I'd know exactly when Fox had accomplished his mission.

Ten minutes or so went by before Dusty spoke.

"You know. I thought I was gonna die," he said. "Just lie there and decompose."

I winced. Not a good mental picture.

"I was getting weaker and weaker, and I thought, you're toast, Dusty. And you know what?"

I shook my head.

"I was lying here, going in and out, in and out, feeling so alone and scared and, all of a sudden I knew she was here, with me."

"She?"

"My mom."

I felt my heartstrings tighten.

"She died when I was ten."

"I'm so sorry, Dusty. That must've been hard."

"I felt better when I knew she was with me," he said. "I knew when I smelled the vanilla, that she was here with me, and I felt less afraid."

I sat back.

"Vanilla?"

He nodded.

"My mom always wore this musky vanilla perfume. Drove my grandma crazy. I could always tell when Mom had been in a room because she left the scent of vanilla behind wherever she went."

"Vanilla perfume," I repeated. "You smelled vanilla musk perfume out here. In the woods?"

He nodded.

"It's the last thing I remember."

I bit my lip and thought about his story.

"I know what you're thinking. It's like the phone and the alcohol. You think I'm hallucinating," he said. "Just admit it. You think I'm crazy. Like everyone else."

I shook my head.

"No, Dusty. You're wrong," I said. "As a matter of fact, I think I may have just become a
believer
."

He stared at me.

"Really?"

I nodded.

"Really."

Cheerleaders from the Seventh Circle of Hell
anyone?

The
dead zone
.

It all came down to the dead zone.

And vanilla musk.

And the fact that Dusty really didn't drink.

But mostly, the
dead zone
.

"Explain your convoluted dead zone hypothesis again, Turner," Stan said.

"And this time without the glowing tributes to your courage and genius and pluck, or whatever the heck you're going for there," Shelby Lynn added. "I just ate."

I shrugged. Einstein was unappreciated in his time.

I laid my cards on the table. Well, actually cell phones, but you get the idea.

I picked up my phone.

"Here we have—"

"Ease up on the legalese there, Turner. You're not thinking about channeling Perry Mason again, are you?" Stan said. "'Cause I'll tell you right now Exhibit C is for 'cut the counselor crap' and get me the
CliffsNotes
version that explains why I'm looking at two phones unless they contain embarrassing photos of a jackass riding a jackass."

How do you say, professional rivalry run amok?

"Have it your way," I said.

"I'm the boss. That's how it works."

"Okay, boss. Here's the deal. I received a phone call from Dusty Cadwallader's cell phone number at 1035 hours. It only lasted twenty seconds or so and all I heard was noise. Return calls made to Dusty went to voice mail. It's all here on the phones. Do you follow so far, or should I bring out the dry-erase board and markers?"

"Tick-tock, Turner."

"Anyway, given Dusty's family members were concerned enough about him to request a welfare check and hadn't, to my knowledge, made contact with Dusty, I, like any caring, upstanding, and plucky—"

"Turner!"

"—headed out to his place."

"Where does Joe Townsend come in?"

"Oh, he was just along for the ride, really."

"Oh? I understood he said it was his idea to go check on Dusty, and if you hadn't agreed, he'd have gone on his own," Stan said.

"What! Why that wrinkled little—"

"Turner…"

"Anyway, we get to Dusty's place and, with Roswell's help, we located him."

"Roswell?"

"Dusty's dog. Joe thought it was lame, too, but you know Astro isn't all that clever either—"

"Oh, Lord. Kill me now," Shelby moaned.

"As I was saying, we find Dusty, and he tells us about being chased in the woods and falling and hurting his ankle and being knocked out, and I mention about him calling me, and he swears he didn't call, that he'd tried but didn't have a signal, and that eventually his phone died. Well, I'm sitting there holding my phone that showed his call and his phone that also showed the call to me in his history but also still had a charge. I'm thinking the guy is a little confused and disoriented and might not be thinking too clearly. Remember, at the time I thought he might have been, er, alcohol impaired."

"But he wasn't, right?"

I shook my head.

"Zero blood alcohol content. Dusty asked the doctors to share the results with me. And it jibes with what he told me about not drinking."

"Even though there was an empty liquor bottle and he smelled like a wino?" Stan asked.

"How do you say planted evidence?" I said.

"Wait a minute. So you suspect subterfuge," Shelby said.

"All I'm saying is that someone went to a lot of trouble to make it appear Dusty had been drinking. Obviously it was someone who didn't know Dusty was a non-drinker. And, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that same someone made the phone call to me from Dusty's phone."

"Wait a minute. Now you're losin' me," Shelby said. "How do you know someone else made the call from Dusty's phone? Why couldn't he just have forgotten he did it?"

I let her queries hang.

One thousand one. One thousand two.

"Oh. Wait. Now I get it. Now I understand. Dusty couldn't have made the call because of the—"

"
Dead zone
!" we yelled in unison.

"Good God," Stan said. "It's contagious."

"That's right. The dead zone. You see there was no cell signal where Dusty was. I tried. Joe tried. In fact, Joe had to get in the Buick and drive down the road before he got a signal. Given the injury to Dusty's ankle and his overall physical condition, there's no way he could have hoofed it the distance required to make that call and get back to where he was found before Joe and I got there. No way, pilgrims.
Plus
the person or persons had to take time to charge Dusty's cell phone before they made the call."

"No biggie there. Lots of cell phone chargers are universal and can be plugged into a car's cigarette lighter," Shelby pointed out.

"So, Perry, I suppose you've figured out a motive for this ruse," Stan said.