Finding Floyd (31 page)

"By the way Sheriff, in Toricello's pocket
you'll find the keys to that Cadillac over there. It belongs to
someone who's staying here at the B&B."

Boone nodded. "Let's get back to my office.
We'll need you to fill out a complete report on all this."

"Sure." Chris watched a pickup truck slow and
pull up the drive.

Preston Hardwick dropped from the driver's
seat and stood, surveying the scene as Kyle came around the truck,
eager to see everything.

Kyle jogged over to the police car, but
stopped when he saw the Blowtorch. Toricello turned his malevolent
glare on him and he stepped back cautiously.

"Hey Boone! That's the bad guy, right? He's
the one kidnapped Diane." Kyle called as he ran across the
yard.

"That's right Kyle. Now why don't you come on
over here and get out of my deputies way. They've got a job to
do."

"Howdy Chris, Sheriff," Preston nodded to
them. "Looks like you've had a little excitement here this
afternoon." He turned to the sheriff. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Nope." He laid a hand on his friend's
shoulder and smiled. "Everyone is fine."

Chris added, "Things might have been
different, but your sheriff's quick thinking saved our lives."

Kyle came over, grinning at them. "I knew it
wouldn't be long before we caught him Boone. Glad we got here in
time. That guy looks mean as a rattlesnake. You didn't have no
trouble with him though, I'll bet." He stopped short when he caught
site of the dead bear sprawled on the ground. "Whoa! Get outta
here! Somebody killed a black bear. Hey Boone, somebody shot a
bear."

"Yeah Kyle, we figured that out already,"
said the sheriff shaking his head.

"That's a big one," said Kyle, with a low
whistle. "Hey Boone, folks can't go around shooting bears. Season
ain't until October, right?"

"Correct again son. By the way, I do believe
you owe me a pizza, a large, with the works," said Boone. Kyle said
no more.

When he climbed into the sheriff's car, it
occurred to Chris that this would put the final nail in the coffin
of his FBI career. He mentally ticked off his failures, losing the
Blowtorch initially, not knowing the suspect was hiding in his own
house, and finally, allowing himself to be taken hostage, not just
once, but twice. He mentally kicked himself for his lack of
vigilance, but on the other hand, he and Diane weren't dead. Why
should he worry about his career?

Ethan and Becky sat by
their fire and talked late into the night about the earthquakes and
the war that followed. They couldn’t speak of those early days
without remembering all those who perished. Ethan recalled the
Choctaw, Okashana. He asked Becky if she remembered that first day
when he appeared at their fireside following the earthquake. Becky
did, of course remember quite well. She smiled at the thought of
her relief seeing Ethan alive. As though it was only yesterday, she
could picture the terrified young man stumbling from the woods, his
feet bound up in dirty rags.

He hadn’t seen Okashana for
more than twenty years. Often he wondered if his friend was caught
up in the great removal of Cherokee and other tribes driven west of
the Mississippi during the 1830’s. That policy of President Andrew
Jackson’s caused Ethan to reverse his opinion of the hero of New
Orleans. It was especially galling for the Choctaws who loyally
fought beside the Tennessee and Kentucky militia.

Thoughts of his Choctaw
friend brought his thoughts back to Reelfoot Lake. He cradled his
empty cup in both hands, the whiskey and the blazing fire warming
him. Ethan looked at his wife, who was to him, still beautiful in
her old age. Her hair, once the color of gold, was now white as
snow.

He showed his wife the
leather journal he’d purchased and asked her what she thought of
his writing down an account of all that happened in those years.
“Did she think it a good idea? Was it worth the effort, and would
future generations want to know?” Becky looked up from her
needlework. She looked at him for a long moment. Then, the corners
of her mouth turned up in the beginning of a smile and her blue
eyes twinkled. He thought that perhaps she’d not heard his
question. Finally, she answered.

“It’s a wonderful idea. Why
Ethan, if you do not do it, then I shall. It is something I’m sure
our grandchildren and their children would someday want to
know.”'

From Reelfoot Legacy, by
Melinda Peters

The second week of May is the peak of apple
blossom time in Pippin's Grove. Nestled in the heart of the Hudson
Valley, in upstate New York, the little town is surrounded by apple
orchards. The trees are blanketed every spring with a profusion of
pale pink flowers. They begin as a pink haze over the branches and
almost overnight, the trees are covered with blossoms. In a week,
the petals are like snow on the ground. A memory until the
following spring.

Victoria Conners sat gazing over the sea of
pale pink that was their orchard. It seemed to stretch on forever.
A gentle breeze rippled through the blossoms and she sighed with
contentment. Working in her pleasant office room, just off their
farmhouse kitchen, was comforting and peaceful.

The laptop monitor on the desk displayed page
two hundred fifty seven of her latest book. The work had gone
smoothly and the book was nearly finished. Instead of another
frivolous romance novel, this was the type of book she'd always
wanted to write. It was a more serious historical novel about the
devastating New Madrid earthquakes, which occurred in the
Mississippi Valley two hundred years earlier. She was pleased with
the result.

"Anybody in there want coffee?" called her
husband from the kitchen. She looked at the time. Nine o'clock.
Jack was always up early. Today he'd been out in the orchards
checking his blossoming apple trees.

"I would love that. Thanks," she answered.
She heard his footsteps in the kitchen, the rattle of cups, and the
sound of pouring coffee.

In a moment Jack was setting her favorite mug
by her side.

How's the book coming along?" he asked,
nodding toward the screen.

She leaned back and reached for her coffee.
"Nearly done and I'm very pleased with the story. Marsha will be
delighted that I finished it early. She's due to have her baby at
the end of the month."

"Tell me about it," he laughed. "Joe's a
nervous wreck. It's a good thing Diane's agreed to stay and manage
the nursery for him a while longer.

"I finished it way before my deadline and the
publisher is on board with the new genre."

"Still going to use the new Melinda Peters
pen name and are you keeping your secret?"

"Yes," she said nodding. "Still keeping my
little secret."

Smiling over the rim of his steaming mug he
asked, "You know what today is?"

She lifted her eyebrows. "Is this a trick
question?"

"Think about it. It's May tenth."

Sipping her coffee, she looked at her husband
with a twinkle in her eye. "I arrived in Pippin's Grove one year
ago today. Right?"

"Correct. I knew you'd figure it out. Happy
anniversary, Sweetheart."

"And walked in on you in the shower." She
grinned.

He leaned in giving her a lingering kiss.
Nibbling a tender spot on her throat, he murmured, "Technically, I
was already out of the shower."

"You were all wet." Her eyes closed as the
kisses trailed lower.

"You couldn't take your eyes off of me." He
stroked her cheek and whispered, "Who would have thought so much
could happen in one year. Any regrets?"

She smiled. "None."

"Not from me either, that's for sure.

"Any smoking hot sex scenes in this one like
the romance books?"

Her gray green eyes sparkled as she nodded.
The tip of her tongue stroked her lower lip.

Their eyes locked. He reached out and
caressed her knee, letting his hand travel higher on her thigh,
stroking her soft skin until she was shivering with
anticipation.

"Oh my god! What the hell is that thing? Is
it dead? Tell me its dead." Rose Buonadies clutched her heart and
stepped back from the snarling jaws.

Theresa and John were admiring their new bear
skin rug on the living room floor. Rose was staring in horror at
the furry black face the stared back at her through lifeless glass
eyes. The bear's mouth was permanently fixed in a frozen snarl, its
teeth bared. The huge paws were splayed out with the claws still
attached.

"Don't worry." John laughed and gave his
future mother-in-law a hug. "Isn't it great? I'll bet we've got the
only bear skin rug in town."

"Jesus Mary and Joseph, that thing is scary."
Rose shivered, crossed herself and stared at the expanse of black
fur spread out in front of John's fireplace. "It don't look dead."
She took a wary step backwards. "Are you sure it's dead, for God's
sake!"

"Look, Mrs. Buonadies." He walked out to the
center of the rug. "I'm standing on its back."

She took a tentative step closer and
shrugged. "Okay, I guess its dead. Just don't ever ask me to clean
that thing!"

"Do you like it?"

"No. I don't like it! Give me a minute to get
used to it. Where the hell did you get it? And hey Johnny, how many
times I gotta tell you? Call me Rose!"

"Okay, Rose. I keep forgetting. We had it
made in Floyd, Virginia. Somebody shot it while we were down there
last March and since no one wanted the skin, I had it done. Made it
into a rug."

"So, Rose, what do you think?"

"I told you; let me get used to it. It's
different." She tilted her head to one side, her mound of tightly
curled hair maintaining its shape. "You're gonna put that thing
down in the basement, aren't you? You don't want people to see that
when they come to sit in your living room."

Theresa rolled her eyes. "Ma! Stop
already!"

"Did you kill this animal, Johnny?"

"No, not me. I don't know exactly who shot
it, but no one else wanted the pelt. I just couldn't resist. Always
wanted a real bear skin rug."

Rose leaned in and tentatively tapped the top
of the furry head with a forefinger. "Oh my god, is the creature's
skull in there?"

"Actually, the taxidermist put a plastic
insert inside to replace it. Everything is gone from within the
bear. All that's left is fur and claws."

"Do they have bears running around all over
the place down there, with people shooting them all the time, or
what?"

"We've got plenty of black bears up here in
the woods. They live all over the United States."

"I don't know. I don't think we got any down
in Jersey." Rose shook her head doubtfully.

"Okay, Ma." Theresa sighed. "You came all the
way up here. Did you need something?"

"Okay, okay." Rose waved a hand. "Yeah, we
gotta talk about the reception. Can we talk about your wedding
reception? That's why I came all the way from Jersey. There's still
a million things to finish up and there's only three weeks left.
We've got to settle on the table seating arrangements. Nearly all
the responses are back. This is going to be very difficult. You
know Theresa; we can't seat Uncle Vincent or Aunt Henrietta with
any of the Donatellos. There's bad blood between them. I tell them
all the time, 'Get over it!' Right? But, whatta you gonna do. It is
what it is."

"Yeah Ma, I know, I know," said Theresa,
waving a hand dismissively. "John and I will take care of this.
We'll do it today, okay?"

A few miles down the road, at the Vandersmoot
Nursery, Diane was busy watering the flats of spring plants
arranged outside the building. Using a low pressure nozzle to soak
the seedling flowers and herb plants, she moved slowly along,
dragging a long hose. Her mind wasn't on her task, so now and then
she'd stop moving ahead until the water was running from under the
planters and coursing across the parking lot. Then, irritated with
herself, she'd tug on the hose and continue.

It was a beautiful day, but she was in a sour
mood. She couldn't get Chris off her mind. Since she'd returned
from Virginia, he'd called and mentioned coming to Pippin's Grove,
but he was always vague about when that might be. As the days and
weeks dragged on she decided to forget him and go on with her life.
After Joe and Marsha's baby was born, she'd look for work, maybe in
New York. It had been great visiting Sandy when she lived in the
city.

With her free hand she toyed with the blond
curls at the back of her head. In the six weeks since she'd
returned to the Grove, her hair had grown. Another couple of months
and I'll have long hair again. Chris loves my hair. He told me so.
There I go again! Thinking about him.

Moving to a row of herbs she tested the soil
with a finger to determine if they needed water. She pinched and
rubbed the needles of rosemary, releasing their pungent aroma.
Doing the same with spearmint leaves she inhaled deeply.

What am I waiting for? I've got to move on.
No more waiting for Chris or any man! She sighed heavily, tugged
impatiently on the hose, and moved on down the rows of plants.

Behind her, a blue Ford pickup turned into
the parking lot and she continued watering.

The door flew open and a man jumped to the
ground and quickly strode toward her.