Killing Weeds (20 page)

The two-story house, situated on a hill high above the lake, was barely recognizable. Time and decay had taken its toll. Windows were out and the back porch had been ruined by a large oak falling into it. Scrub trees and other wild plants had grown up around the structure like a natural wall. It was mostly covered in wild grapevines and kudzu. Ruth had liked it natural, but even she would have kept the house clear of extra foliage.

Peggy knew there was a steep, rocky path from the front of the house to the water and the dock where Ruth had kept a pontoon boat and several smaller boats. She liked to go out on the lake and examine the wild life that lived there. She practiced scuba diving and tried out new methods of forensic testing, some of which had been named after her.

The lake itself had been declared unsafe for human consumption or swimming years ago. Like many of its counterparts, local businesses had carelessly dumped everything from aluminum tailings to hog waste into the water, thinking they had an endless supply to throw their trash into.

Years later, there was nothing left. No cleanup efforts could make the lake healthy again.

“Pull in over there by the garage,” Diane instructed.

Peggy’s hands were trembling as she turned the wheel. Sam discreetly nodded to her.

They were coming up on the moment when their best chance was going to be to get away. They had to make this count. There was no doubt in Peggy’s mind that Diane meant to kill them both.

Peggy knew Sam had something in mind. She could feel his patient plotting. Sam wasn’t like her. He didn’t have a temper and always looked at the long game.

Would that do any good in this case? Would they have to kill Diane to get away? She’d never known Sam to hurt another living thing and wondered if he could do it.

She wasn’t sure of herself hurting Diane either. The young woman was as much a victim of Ruth’s insanity as the people her friend had killed.

Peggy’s insides were trembling as much as her hands. She’d been in situations like this before that hadn’t ended well. There hadn’t been a chance for her and Sam to come up with a plan. Maybe if there had been, they’d be ready for this. She hoped Sam was ready because she knew she wasn’t.

But when they finally arrived and Peggy switched off the truck engine, it was all going to be whatever they could do to distract and overpower Ruth’s dangerous daughter.  She prayed that she had the strength to remember what was important and protect Sam’s life.

Diane made Sam get out of the truck first. “Easy there. You, blondie, get over on this side where I can keep an eye on you. Peggy, you get out over there and come this way. Take your time. Let’s not make a mistake now.”

“What difference does it make?” Peggy demanded. “You’re going to kill us anyway.”

“You, definitely,” Diane said, pointing the gun at her. “Sam, maybe not. That all depends on you.”

“Just let him go,” Peggy pleaded. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m the one you want.”

“He’s your son,” Diane growled. “Maybe that’s enough. If you watch him die first you might get a taste of what it was like for my mother to die.”

Peggy knew she had to create some kind of diversion that would give Sam a chance to get away. She hoped he would take it when the time came. If he ran through the woods, Diane would never catch him. But how could she convey that in a glance or a nod?

She knew him well enough to know that he was ready to do something. She knew he wouldn’t only try to save himself—he wasn’t made that way.  He wouldn’t leave unless he thought she was safe too.

Sam jumped down from the passenger side. He held his hands up as Diane moved the gun from Peggy to him.

There was an old metal gas can that had probably been there since the last time someone had cut the grass. It was rusted shut beside an equally rusted lawn mower.

As Diane focused on Sam, Peggy got out of the driver’s side and edged toward the can.

A thousand things were going through her head. A thousand options came and went as she plotted to escape.

There was no one around for miles.

They had no cell phones to communicate—unless they could take one from Diane.

She knew Diane would kill them both. Despite her coy words to the contrary, that was a given. She’d already killed at least twice. It was doubtful that she would hesitate to do it again.

They had to take their chances.

Once Peggy wrapped her hand around the rusted, broken, handle on the gas can, she wasted no time in acting. Sam looked away when he saw what she was doing, trying not to attract Diane’s attention. He held his hands out toward the other woman in a beseeching attitude as he got closer to her.

Peggy lifted the can that was still heavy with either gas or water and threw it at Diane as hard as she could.

Diane seemed to be as edgy as Peggy. The can hit her on the side of the face and shoulder. She screamed, pointing the gun away from Sam and toward Peggy again.

He took the opportunity and ran toward her.

Peggy hit the ground when she saw the gun swivel in her direction. The can had been too heavy to aim properly but she could tell it had hurt Diane anyway. She reached for a broken rake near the foundation of the old porch.  

Sam made his move, leaping across the short space between him and Diane. His arms were extended and his long legs off the ground when Diane saw him and fired the weapon.

The repercussion startled the birds in the trees around them, echoing in the empty overgrown lot that surrounded the house.

Peggy scrambled to her feet to help Sam. Diane stepped back, the gun still in her hand.

It wasn’t until then that Peggy saw blood darkening Sam’s T-shirt. He hit the ground and rolled over several times before coming to rest next to the half-rotten garage.

Eyes closed. Not moving.

She ran to Sam’s side and dropped to the ground next to him. He was unconscious. The bullet had struck him mid-chest. He was losing a lot of blood.

She turned her head to urge Diane to call for help, but before she could speak, her world went painfully dark when the other woman pistol-whipped her.

Peggy slumped on the ground beside Sam.

Stinging nettle

Flogging with nettles is the process of applying stinging nettles to the skin in order to provoke inflammation. This is a folk remedy for rheumatism, providing temporary relief from pain.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Peggy felt herself being dragged across rough stone, dirt, and stinging nettle plants.

She wasn’t alert enough to do anything to stop her attacker. The stones and plants were scratching her back and legs as Diane pulled her from the house toward the lake.

Wake up. Do something.

But though the warnings came fast and furiously into her brain, her body refused to cooperate. She could feel blood dripping down the side of her face but couldn’t raise her hand to stop it.

She realized that Diane had tied her wrists together. She opened her eyes and groaned. Her head hurt—and what had happened to Sam?

Sam!

Peggy tried to sit up, grab something, and hit Diane with it. She had to get back, to get help for Sam. He could bleed to death.

Diane finally stopped walking. She glanced down at her captive.

Peggy kept her eyes closed and tried to marshal her forces to strike at the other woman.

Before she could do anything, Diane pushed her with her foot, rolling her into a boat.

“There you go. Have a nice boat ride, Peggy. There aren’t a lot of people out on the water today. You should have lots of time to contemplate your life—and lack of it. At least until the boat sinks. I’ve been meaning to get it repaired, you know? I’ve just been so
busy
with other things.”

Peggy opened her eyes. She was face up in an old rowboat. Her legs were also tied together. Her skin burned, raw from hundreds of small cuts and scrapes.

“Sam,” Peggy pleaded. “Please help Sam.”

“What’s that?” Diane asked with a smug smile. “Don’t worry about Sam. I’ll take good care of him. I’ll pull him into the woods for hunters to find this fall.”

“Don’t do this.”

Diane pushed at the rowboat with her foot, and it slipped into the water. “Too late. Bye-bye, Peggy. Bon voyage. This kind of feels like when they sent off the Titanic. I’m making a prediction that you won’t make it back to shore. Tell my mother I said hello.”

As soon as the boat was on the water, Peggy felt her back getting wet. The rowboat was slowly sinking into the lake. She had no idea how much time she had.

She looked up into the clear blue sky as the boat lazily meandered into the lake. The currents seemed to keep it close to the edge of the water for a while. Overhanging tree limbs would keep anyone from noticing it. She’d never been to a lake where there weren’t a few abandoned boats that had got free from their moorings.

The rowboat wouldn’t last long on the surface of the water. It was already moving up across her legs and chest. She couldn’t see the holes in the boat, but it must have been a wreck, barely able to stay afloat.

The water eased the pain at the back of her head and neck. She wouldn’t live long enough to have a full recovery if she couldn’t get free. She tried pulling at the plastic ties that held her hands. She brought them up to her teeth but couldn’t gnaw her hands free. She kicked her feet and pulled her legs apart as far as she could.

The plastic ties were very effective—they didn’t budge.

“Hello?” Peggy called out as loud as she could. Her voice refused to cooperate, coming out as a hoarse croak that no one would be able to hear.

She cleared her throat and tried again. This time she was loud and strong. ”Can anyone hear me? Help!”

The water was almost engulfing her, the boat sinking around her.

“This would be a good time to start bailing, my friend,” Ruth said.

Peggy knew she was hallucinating. Not that Ruth would have helped her if she’d been there. In this case, seeing her perched on the thin edge of the sinking boat was enough to make her realize it wasn’t real.

“Go away,” Peggy told the figment of her subconscious. “Let me die in peace.”

Ruth’s always animated face came close to hers. “I didn’t die in peace. Why should you? I died in prison after another woman stuck a dirty fork into my carotid. I was bleeding on the cafeteria floor—not a good way to die. But you…you have fresh air, sunshine, blue sky. What more do you want?”

“I can’t imagine why I’m conjuring your presence in the last moments of my life.”

“Guilt, perhaps? You sold me out, Peggy. That had to be hard on your poor, self-righteous little soul.”

“You sold your soul to the devil when you killed those people.” Peggy said the words as she spit out water that was slowly moving up on her face.

It wouldn’t be long now.

“You’ve always had everything,” Ruth taunted her. “Plenty of money. Parents who loved you. A good husband. A son who wanted to be near you. But you lacked passion. You have no zest for life. Where’s the fire, Peggy? Where’s your heart?”

Peggy was going to answer, but Ruth was gone. As apparitions of her past life could have gone, this wasn’t one of the better ones.

“Your life is supposed to flash before your eyes,” Peggy shouted. “You’re supposed to see visions of the pearly gates and people you loved that have passed over.”

She screamed for help a few more times. It would only be another few seconds before water covered her face. Peggy held her head up, straining her neck and shouted until she couldn’t shout any more. There was no reply.

Her voice echoed around her on the empty lake.

Peggy struggled as the water covered her face. The boat had drifted into the middle of the lake. She poked her head up for a breath of air every few seconds until her nose couldn’t get out of the water.

Looking through the dirty lake water, she stared at the sky until an image formed in front of her.

“Don’t worry, Peggy. You’re gonna live to fight another day,” John said with his familiar smile. “It’s gonna be okay. I love you.”

She smiled, and reached her bound hands toward him.

To her surprise, a strong grip grabbed her hands and lifted her from the water.

“Hey.” The grizzled fisherman was wearing a Bud Light hat. He dragged her halfway over the edge of his aluminum boat. “Did someone put you in here? Or is this what they call assisted suicide?”

Peggy took a deep breath of Carolina air and sputtered. “Thank you. I need your help. A friend of mine has been shot.”

Poison Oak

Severity of a poison oak skin rash depends on the degree of patient sensitivity and the amount and type of body parts exposed. Sensitive body parts such as eyes, lips, and genitals will experience a more severe reaction.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Edgar had been fishing for catfish in the lake even though the state said people shouldn’t eat fish caught in those waters.

“I’ve been eating them all my life and I’m seventy-two years old.” He shrugged as he used his knife to cut the plastic ties that held her. “I figure, how long do I wanna live anyway? The fish tastes good.”

Peggy shivered, despite the warmth of the day. The aluminum fishing boat was still moored beside the slowly sinking rowboat. The old boat was under about two feet of water now. She would be dead if it wasn’t for Edgar.

She thought about how accurate Sofia’s tea leaf prediction had been. She wasn’t a big believer in the supernatural, but it was hard to ignore what she’d said.

It was weird to think of it. She knew she should be focused on getting back to Sam. She thought she was probably in shock. Her mind wasn’t working right.

Had John really been there with her? Or was he a hallucination too?

She looked at the rowboat again, trying to get her thoughts together. Of course John and Ruth were hallucinations.

Her hands and feet were free. She was going to survive.

Sam.
She had to save Sam.