Dang Near Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 2) (5 page)

Eight

We approached our cabin. After I watched the girls go inside, I signaled to Sam and Meredith we needed to talk. I wanted to update them in case something really bad happened. After Selma and George passed us and were beyond earshot, I spoke in a whisper. “This place may be more than we bargained for.”

I told them Trey was Vicki’s brother with a fondness for drugs, alcohol and her money, and that Vicki felt the need to disappear to get away from him.

“She also said Bertha’s aunt and uncle, the Vernons, died five years ago in a remote corner of the ranch from heat stroke and dehydration. They left Bertha the ranch, which didn’t sit well with the Vernon’s son, Herb, even though he never liked living here. Vicki also said Bertha and Monty resent it when Ranger Travis flirts with her.”

“Looks like there’s more sneaking around here than snakes,” Sam said. “There might be more to Monty’s story about attacking that guy. Then there’s Wayne Rickoff.”

I relayed Vicki’s account of Rickoff’s pointing a gun at a horse, then at her. “Vicki said he’d spent time at a VA hospital.”

“He seems so angry,” Meredith said. “I think he’s scary. Maybe we should leave this place. I wish I already had enough material for my articles.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Looks like Rickoff wouldn’t mind lining up guests for target practice. It’s unusual for a skilled shooter to fire off a gun in the middle of a crowd to scare a snake.”

“Vietnam must have made him jumpy,” I said. I didn’t mention Rickoff might suffer from PTSD since I didn’t know for sure. Now that Sam and Meredith knew about Rickoff’s actions, I thought I should try to find out more about the veteran before labeling him. “Did you bring your gun?” I asked Sam.

“Yep. Baby Glock’s in my pocket. I carry it when I know there’s going to be firearms around. A .27 is easy to conceal.”

“Did you consider shooting the snake?” Meredith asked.

“I didn’t want to advertise I was armed. Besides, people worry me more than snakes. I think we should cut this vacation short.”

“Some of these people might need help,” I said. “Don’t you think we should stay a while longer?”

He frowned and looked off into the brush.

“Poor Millie,” Meredith said. “Thank goodness that snake didn’t bite her.”

“Maybe it was stunned. Did you see its shiny mouth?” I said.

“Probably the sun reflecting off white scales,” Sam said. “Okay. I’ll keep my eye on Rickoff and River Rat. Right now I’m going to clean up.” He tromped toward his cabin.

It appeared we weren’t leaving the ranch. At least not yet. Having told them everything I knew, I felt safer. Sam was armed and would watch the men. The other wranglers seemed more intriguing than dangerous.

I was learning to enjoy being in the great outdoors and looked forward to watching sunsets with Sam. And I was determined to find a way to help Vicki so she didn’t feel compelled to leave.

Meredith and I noted Jangles’ blackened rhinestone flip-flops on their front porch and traipsed through our cabin and the breezeway to check on the girls. Stoney was patting Jangles’ scratches with a square gauze soaked with rubbing alcohol.

“Whooeee, that stings.”

Jangles had showered off sweat-streaked make-up and powdered her cheeks, which were still beet red from her sprint through the bushes. She’d captured her clean hair with a rubber band and poofed it into a beehive. Her soft flared jeans and flat-heeled boots looked serviceable. She wore a blouse with long sleeves she could roll down to cover her scratches.

Stoney’s teased and sprayed hair reminded me of a prickly pear bush. Her earrings, necklace, and belt shone with enough coral and turquoise to impress Mayan royalty. I hoped she didn’t have to run anywhere. The weight of her jewels would slow her to a crawl.

“Where’s Millie?” I asked.

Stoney pointed up toward the corner. Millie lay prone on her top bunk with her arms and legs flopped over the sides. “Says she needs to rest,” she whispered. “We didn’t tell her when she fainted, she fell on a snake. We suggested she shower and put on jeans and a wrinkle-free shirt before she crawled up there. We’ll wake her up in time to primp for the barbecue.”

Meredith and I left our suitemates and returned to our cabin. I told Meredith that while she showered, I needed to check my email for letters to Dear Aggie.

Before I went to work on my column, I wanted to research Trey Landsdale. It occurred to me that if Vicki’s brother abused drugs, he might have a criminal record.

My WebCrawler search indicated he had none. His clean record made it more reasonable their parents would send him to watch over Vicki. If they believed he had only minor problems, they might think giving him some responsibility would straighten him out. Maybe they realized Vicki was the stronger of the two children.

Yet, I still had misgivings about River Rat, Trey Landsdale. Since he’d grown up in Wisconsin, I looked up the state’s marijuana laws: possession of marijuana was punishable by six months in jail and/or a fine of $1,000 for the first offense. Conditional discharge was available for first offenders. Subsequent offenses incurred three-and-a-half years in jail and a fine of $10,000.

Suppose authorities had previously caught Trey with marijuana. The Landsdales might have paid the $1,000 fine and had him conditionally discharged.

At that point, they might have suggested he adopt a different name and get a job in Texas at the dude ranch where Vicki worked.

He could keep an eye on his sister and himself out of jail.

In Texas, possessing marijuana incurred 180 days in jail and a $2,000 fine. Having two to four ounces drew a year in jail and a $4,000 fine.

Possession or sale of stronger drugs carried greater penalties in both states. Trey Landsdale must have known that if he went to Texas, he’d have to be very careful. If he got caught using illegal substances, his parents might balk at paying the price of keeping him out of jail.

On the other hand, the Landsdales might prefer having Trey jailed in Texas. They’d have a better chance of keeping his misdeeds out of the Wisconsin papers.

I still had time to check my email before dinner. Sure enough, somebody had written to Dear Aggie.

The paper would have to email her my answer. This reader needed advice fast.

Dear Aggie,

Our friends have a ranch. They insisted we visit them. Dinner and camaraderie were great, but tomorrow we’re going on a three-hour hike. I’d just as soon jump off a cliff, but I can’t get out of it. Any suggestions?

Creeped-out in the country.

Dear Creeped,

First, wear cool, comfortable clothing with a sweater and COMFORTABLE walking shoes. No boots you haven’t broken in. Don’t even consider flip-flops or espadrilles. High-topped tennis shoes are good. If you wear regular tennis shoes, stuff your jeans into tube socks. Wear sunscreen and a hat. You don’t want to survive outdoor life only to look like a hag. Use bug repellant. Mosquitoes either love you or hate you. Why chance it?

I know you’re thinking about snakes. Most are not poisonous and avoid people. If that doesn’t make you feel better, wear gloves and sprinkle granular Snake-Be-Gone around you as you walk. Or sprinkle it on your shoes.

Better still, walk in the open. If your host starts to walk though brush, walk directly behind him.

Remember: heat, Deet, and feet.

Aggie

I was glad we weren’t taking any prolonged, age inducing hikes. I could hardly wait to get the dirt off, even in a primitive shower using lye soap. Fortunately, I discovered I’d packed a bar of Ivory.

Meredith and I were in our underwear, mid-way through blow-drying our hair when the power went out in the building. Cabin electricity apparently couldn’t support two hair dryers. We groped around in semi-darkness, trying to find clothes that matched.

Millie’s voice carried through the breezeway. “Is it almost morning? I had a terrible dream about a snake.” In loud voices, as though they had to shout to be heard over the darkness, the other two girls explained the electrical malfunction to Millie, reoriented her to pre-dinner time and didn’t mention the snake.

When Sam banged on the front door, the lights came on. “Are you ready to go eat?”

“Y’all go on,” Jangles called. “We’ll get Millie ready and be there in a minute.”

Meredith opened the door. “We had to dress without lights,” she told Sam.

“I spent the last hour listening to George and Selma Tensel argue,” he said. “George hates everything about this place. They don’t serve liquor, so he had to drive to Bandera for booze. He hates having to walk everywhere. Selma harped he needs more exercise but pointed out he has no trouble chasing young girls like Vicki.”

“Ouch.”

Poor Vicki. This was one more conflict she didn’t need.

“George thinks it’s stupid to see grown women panting over a bunch of tight-butt, small-brained cowboys,” Sam added.

Meredith grinned at me. There are some things only women appreciate.

“George also despises the indignity of having to heave himself onto a horse,” Sam said.

“Did Selma say that’s another reason he should exercise?” I asked.

“Right. He also hates stripping to a swimsuit to dunk himself in a river. Selma reminded him he used to say he loved the Texas Hill Country. She grew euphoric talking about its natural beauty. When she started pontificating about conservation, I had to get out of there.”

Sam wore a long-tailed shirt hanging out over his jeans. He must be hiding the Glock.

We strolled toward the main lodge, listening to blessed silence. I saw two small buildings secluded in the brush off to our left. From having studied the ranch map, I thought the first cabin, closest to ours, must be Vicki’s. Through the window, I saw a blouse draped on a chair.

Farther down the road, I concluded the building closest to the lodge must be Sunny Barlow’s cabin; it had the initials “S. B.” on the door.

As dusk crept around us, the cicadas tuned up. “What are those? Locusts?” Sam said.

“Texans call them cicadas,” Meredith said. “They invade in June and stay all summer. Males make those sounds by vibrating the membranes on their abdomens.”

“Maybe George Tensel will take that up instead of snoring. He snores so loud, he rattles pipes in the bathroom.”

Cicadas surrounded us from trees everywhere, chirping a rhythmical strain as if they were celebrating the day and preparing the countryside for nightfall.

“Do cicadas have any natural enemies?” he asked Meredith.

“They lay hundreds of eggs in scratched-out areas of tree bark. When their offspring, called nymphs, fall to the ground, they frequently land near cicada-killer wasps.”

We seemed to have landed in the middle of vast acreage that concealed mysterious deaths, conflicts between people, siblings with issues, a man hiding behind a happy face, a veteran who probably suffered from PTSD, and snakes.

Yet the sky shone with more blue, pink, and orange streaks than I’d seen in any other sky. The air smelled purer than I’d imagined air could smell. The tone of humming cicadas enveloped us in a blanket of sound lulling us into security. How could anything go seriously wrong in such a place?

Nine

To the right of the lodge, a large concrete patio was set back alongside the building. A breeze rustled red and white checkered tablecloths covering cypress picnic tables spaced across the concrete floor. Cicadas sang hymns to the streaked sky. I inhaled the fresh air.

Sunny stood on the patio beside the outdoor fireplace, stirring coals. “Come on in. While we wait for the coals to heat up, I’ll sing.” He sauntered to the nearest table, heaved a foot on the bench seat, laid the guitar across his thigh and began to croon “Country Roads.” Even the cicadas grew quiet. Sunny smiled at our suitemates when they walked in, and they rushed to the table nearest him.

Sam had captured the table to Sunny’s right and spread himself out on the bench seat so only Meredith and I could sit opposite him. Since the ranch wasn’t full, there were tables left over. Sunny wore subdued clown makeup and no hat. We had a good profile view of his strong, regular features. Why would he want to hide them?

Bertha came out of the lodge carrying a tray of steaks. Vicki followed, struggling with a platter of baked potatoes and a mammoth salad bowl. About that time, Ranger Travis swaggered in wearing chaps, as if he’d spent the day riding a cutting horse through the brush.

Sunny grinned and broke into “Momma, Don’t let your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys.”

“You got that right,” Bertha said, winking at Ranger.

Ranger tipped his hat to each woman. We all checked him out as he strolled around and spoke to everybody. He slid onto the bench at a center table.

When Sunny stopped singing to put steaks on the grill, Ranger requested “When Will I Be Loved?” Sunny started the song, and Ranger was ready. He cocked his head back like a howling coyote and sang loud, harmonizing with Sunny: “I’ve been cheated…been mistreated. When will I be loved? I’ve been put down; I’ve been pushed ‘round. When will I be loved? When I find a new girl that I want for mine she always breaks my heart in two. It happens every time… I’ve been made blue, I’ve been lied to. When will I be loved?”

By the time they got to the last line, every woman in the place looked ready to volunteer to help one or both men feel loved.

Vicki’s brother slipped in and slouched at a table near the edge of the patio. Ink black hair swept his shoulders, and his tank top left bronzed muscles exposed. He wore cut-offs and flip-flops—minimal clothing, I supposed, in case he felt the urge to dive into the nearest water.

Sunny saw him and played “Up a Lazy River.”

“Yeah,” River Rat breathed.

The girls tittered.

Sunny stopped singing long enough to turn over the steaks. When he cradled the guitar again and sang “Cool Clear Water,” Ranger looked downright jealous.

I wondered where the rest of the cowboys were. The Tensels appeared, with George looking tuckered out and Selma appearing flustered. I wondered how long they’d last at the BVSBar Ranch. Sunny sensed their desire to be elsewhere and launched into Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again.”

The man had a sense of humor.

By the time the steaks were done and we’d lined up to serve our plates, the sun had nearly set.

I didn’t see Bertha anywhere. She apparently thought Vicki could handle the rest of the evening.

The only light came from candles on tables and soft lights glowing from corners of the patio. Sam smiled at me. I wished I could go to sleep in his arms listening to Sunny Barlow sing.

Sunny looked toward the back of the patio and frowned. I craned around to see Wayne Rickoff and Monty stroll in late to the barbecue. Maybe they’d been trying to fix the skeet trap machine. Sunny studied Rickoff with a dark scowl. Rickoff didn’t seem to notice. He and Monty ambled to the grill, collected their food and returned to the back of the patio.

I heard the girls talking about why Sunny wore makeup.

“Maybe he’s afraid some girl he ditched will show up and recognize him.” Jangles giggled. “I’d love to discuss his history with him while I remove his makeup, flake by flake.”

Vicki put marshmallows, chocolate bars and graham crackers on a fireside table. Everybody swarmed around her to make s’mores and carry the treasures to their tables.

Vicki slipped off the patio into the darkness. I guess she figured she’d done her job. Somebody else would clean up.

Rickoff finished eating and left. Monty and Ranger Travis left a few minutes later. Everybody Vicki’d had trouble with left shortly after she did, like an exodus of foxes scenting a rabbit. Goosebumps rippled across my shoulders.

When the Tensels left, our suitemates rose to follow. Sam, apparently oblivious to the departing guests, scarfed down another s’more. Unable to sit still another minute, I rose to leave. Meredith and I waved good night to Sunny Barlow and thanked him for the music. He said he’d stay to clean up. It was getting very dark.

As we navigated the path to our cabins, it grew even darker. Sunny must have doused the campfire. We slowed and walked carefully, adjusting our eyes to seeing by moonlight. The cicadas grew louder, as if to warn us of impending danger. An owl hooted.

I grabbed Meredith’s arm. “What’s that noise in the brush?”

“Some animal that feeds at night, raccoon…opossum.”

“How can they see to eat anything? We can barely see three feet ahead,” I said.

“It might be armadillos digging with their snouts and claws, loosening the soil to find food.”

“Oh.”

“They catch beetles, ants, termites, worms and caterpillars with long sticky tongues.”

Meredith tended to chatter when she was nervous. She had to be as eager as I was to reach our cabin. I hadn’t seen horseshoe marks on the trail, but somebody must have ridden a horse there. Selma stepped in horse poop.

“My new espadrilles!” she shrieked. “Why doesn’t anybody clean up this place?”

We stopped behind Selma. Millie, who’d rolled up her jeans, bent over and squinted at something clinging to the folds. “What’s that?”

Dozens of crickets had landed on Millie’s pant legs. Stoney’s turquoise, gleaming in the moonlight, must have attracted them. Millie’s cuffed jeans gave them a secure landing site. Millie squealed, shaking one leg, then the other, trying to dislodge crickets without touching them and gyrating like a crazed voodoo dancer.

Everybody moved away from her except Selma, who was occupied with scraping horse poop off her shoes. Since Selma was close to Millie, a few crickets jumped toward her. When both women screamed with terror, we all closed in and started flipping critters off them.

Sunny Barlow walked up. “What’s going on?”

“Crickets.” Jangles smiled. “We’re getting rid of them.” She and Stoney flicked crickets like pros.

As soon as Selma was mostly cricket-free, she marched ahead toward their cabin, fuming. George seemed happy to let her go. He meandered around until I lost sight of him in the darkness.

“Guess I’ll turn in,” Sunny said. He was carrying an ice chest.

Meredith whispered. “He’s so good looking. What’s the ice chest—?”

He heard her. “I keep clown makeup in it,” he said, “so it won’t melt. Got more ice from the kitchen.”

He detoured toward his cabin.

“Good idea,” I said, turning to Meredith. “We should put our makeup in that cooler I brought.”

Sam looked at me like I was crazy. He muttered under his breath. “The guy probably hides sharp knives in that cooler… ex-con serial killer protecting his identity. Hates city people. Knows they flock to dude ranches. Comes here to kill them.”

I thought he was teasing, but I couldn’t see his face. I was glad Millie didn’t hear him.

We heard a loud boom. Everybody froze. “Was that thunder?” I said. “A shot?”

Sam slipped his hand under his shirt. “Maybe Rickoff practices in the dark.”

Jangles gave him a disgusted look. “Come on, girls. It’s time we got back to our cabin.”

“Good idea,” Sam said. “Loud noises attract snakes.”

Millie screeched, grabbed the others and they bolted for their cabin.

“You’re impossible,” I said to Sam.

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “It’s time everybody got to bed anyway.” He swaggered toward his cabin. “We should’ve brought a flashlight.”

Meredith and I were relieved to get to our bungalow and slip inside. “What do you think that boom was?” I asked her.

“Sounded like a shot. Maybe somebody shot a rabbit or a javelina.”

“Probably. I’m too tired to care.”

“Me, too.”

“I’ll check my mail.” I powered up my laptop and found a timely letter.

Dear Aggie,

My husband says I’m a good camper. I can set up tents and cook with minimal utensils. I’ve learned to hike in khaki clothes that resemble Burka gear to protect my skin without suffocating. Despite beautiful scenery, I walk eyes-to-the-ground to avoid stepping on some creature. But at night, I get nervous. Unfamiliar noises scare me. Can you help?

Nervous Nelly

Dear Nervous Nelly,

When we escape our canned-air habitats after dark, we discover that some creatures prefer nighttime to daytime. Armadillos, bats, hedgehogs, raccoons and opossums forage through brush looking for something to eat. They are totally uninterested in you.

Wolves howl mournfully, coyotes sound like Chihuahuas barking, and hedgehogs are into heavy breathing. With their looks, go figure.

Crickets’ legs rubbing together sound like tiny nail files doing battle. Whippoorwills sound like they’re whistling at girls, and owls hoot like disapproving grandmothers.

I don’t recommend hiking at night, but the most likely danger is stepping in critter poop. Why not sit inside in a comfy chair with your feet up? Open your window, leave the screen on and try to identify what’s making the sounds.

Pleasantly perched night owl,

Aggie

It was comforting writing about nocturnal creatures. People were scary. I kept thinking about that boom. Why would somebody be shooting in the dark? I remembered how Sunny had glared at Rickoff, and how Rickoff, Ranger and Monty had slipped away right after Vicki left, as if they were tracking her.

What did Sunny have in that ice chest? What was he hiding behind that makeup?