Rock-a-Bye Bones (31 page)

The crazy thing about my dog was that she could swim in the icy creeks and rivers and never feel it. A good hot bath, on the other hand, left her shivering and acting as if I'd been terribly cruel to her.

I'd just cleared the bog when Sweetie stopped in front of me, a low growl vibrating from her throat. The trees on either side stood like sentinels, so thick in places they actually blocked the daylight, which was dim at best due to the storm.

Hushing the animals, I listened in all directions. The woods were quiet. Too quiet. The natural world had been silenced by something or someone. Something dangerous. The birds and small mammals knew when to hide, and I took their lead and ducked behind an old stump until I could determine where the danger came from.

I heard it then, the long, thin wails of a woman crying. The sobs raced up my spine, tingling every nerve along the way. This was the sound of total depression and hopelessness. This woman had given up all thoughts of rescue.

It had to be Pleasant. I knew it instinctively. And if this was the prison where Pleasant was being kept, then Luther Potter and Owen DeLong might not be far way.

I slipped through the woods silent as a shadow holding Pluto under my coat, with Sweetie Pie and Chablis in lockstep with me. The storm drew down on us, and the wind kicked up. Leaves whirled through the air and another shower of rain spattered like buckshot all around me, propelled by a wind so strong the drops stung like pellets.

At last a cabin came into view. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the thought of a nice, warm fire was tempting, but not enough to draw me out of my cover. I had no idea who might be in the cabin. Or what firepower they might have.

I gripped my pistol and automatically checked to be sure the safety was off and the gun ready for use. I'd never taken to the idea of shooting anyone, but I would protect myself and the critters with necessary force. If someone tried to hurt us, I'd do my best to hurt him first.

I duckwalked closer to the rustic cabin, taking care to stay below the top of the scrubby undergrowth that offered cover. The cabin seemed to contain no more than four rooms. The cypress wood, decay resistant and unpainted, was a dark gray that blended perfectly with the tree trunks.

When I'd watched the cabin for fifteen minutes and saw no movement, I moved closer. The storm wouldn't hold off forever, and I needed to find out who was in the cabin with the sobbing woman. If she was alone … I had to gauge the danger versus the opportunity of saving Pleasant.

I stepped forward and felt a sickening snap as the ground gave way beneath me and I sank up to my hip in a hole. I'd stepped into deadfall that gave way beneath my weight. I wasn't injured, but not four inches from my foot was a cottonmouth moccasin as big around as my upper arm. It was a granddaddy of a snake, with enough poison to kill me if I couldn't obtain immediate medical attention. The lidless eyes of the snake stared straight into my quaking soul.

 

23

Pluto abandoned my coat, leaping across the hole to the other side in classic Halloween stance. He saw the snake and he didn't want to be friends. Sweetie Pie eased to my side and growled. I grabbed her collar and held on to prevent her from jumping into the hole. She'd risk her life to save me. The venom from a snake that size would kill a ninety-pound dog quickly, and tiny Chablis wouldn't stand a chance. The little dust mop tiptoed closer and I stopped her with a low command.

What I hadn't expected was Pluto. Like a streak of black lightning, Pluto darted into the hole and smacked the coiled snake on top of its head. The snake darted and wove as Pluto jumped to the side seconds before the snake struck. The cold weather had slowed the serpent's reactions, but it was waking up, and the muscles beneath the brown, red, and black skin tensed and contracted as it coiled tighter, giving it a longer range to strike.

Terror almost paralyzed me—for myself and my cat. Pluto yowled like a tomcat ready to fight.

“Pluto, no!” If I reached down to grab the cat, I might provoke the snake to strike again.

Pluto crouched to make another foray against the snake. The fetid odor of a stinky gym and rancid cheese hit my nostrils, trademarks of the cottonmouth. There was no doubt this was a poisonous reptile, and one of the most territorial snakes in the world. He would not tolerate our sudden intrusion into what appeared to be his den. Pluto and I were in serious trouble.

I inched my hands down, ready to grab Pluto and throw him to safety, but the snake opened its jaws, a signal of impending attack. My paddock boot, good leather, protected my foot and ankle, but if the snake aimed for my calf or above, I would be a goner. To my surprise, though, the snake waited. Perhaps he would allow us to retreat.

I shifted slightly, and the snake responded by opening its mouth again, showing the white “cotton” interior and its fangs. To withdraw, I had to move, but it was my movement that would provoke the snake and make him feel threatened. It was a standoff, and one I couldn't win. The cat or dogs would soon take action and one of us would be bitten.

I eased my gun from my waistband. I had one chance. I wouldn't get a second shot, and a wounded snake could still bite. I had to hit the snake's head if I meant to escape without being struck.

“Pluto, stay still.” I cocked the gun and aimed, trying to clear my mind of everything except focusing on the snake's head. If Pluto jumped suddenly, I might kill him. Or hit my own foot. A .38 would do some major damage to a foot. I was suddenly very fond of my feet. While they were long, skinny, and somewhat unattractive, they were perfect for walking, standing upright, and dancing.

There was also the problem that if Luther Potter or Owen DeLong was in the vicinity, a gunshot would be as effective as a marching band in letting them know company was a-comin'.

Sweetie Pie lunged forward, and I lowered the gun. “Stop!” I pulled backward on her collar with all my strength. The hound reversed and the momentum of her reversal pulled me clear of the hole before I could even think. As if the critters had choreographed the action, Pluto leaped out, landing on my stomach with enough weight to expel the air from my lungs. I uttered a loud
ummmmptf
.

Even though I had fifteen pounds of kitty on my solar plexus and no oxygen, I managed to get my heels and elbows under me and execute a backward crawl like something from
The Grudge
. I didn't believe the snake would chase us, but I wasn't taking any chances.

Chablis ran to the hole and growled a warning at the snake to stay down there. I was very sure Mr. Moccasin was as glad I was gone as I was to be free of his home. I forced myself to my feet, still sucking in air and wheezing. No matter, I wanted to leave the snake behind me. In front of me was the rescue of a terrified female.

The long wails of the woman had stopped. The only sign the cabin was inhabited was the curl of blue smoke that lazed out of the chimney and into the wind. My watch showed an hour had passed since Tinkie dropped me off and went for help. My partner and the cavalry should be arriving any minute. If I was going to have something to report, I needed to investigate the cabin. Instead of a frontal assault, I decided to circle behind the cabin, hoping the back had more windows or exposed areas than the front did.

I followed a slope, careful to avoid bogs. Big tire imprints indicated solid ground, and I counted my blessings that the storm continued to hold off, else the tracks would be washed away.

By the time I made it to the edge of an amber creek I'd caught my breath and stopped long enough to give the animals some much-deserved petting and praise. Sweetie Pie was a stout hound, but it was her iron will, not her strength, that had pulled my weight out of the snake hole. And Pluto—he was normally filled with disdain for all humans, but he'd risked his life. Chablis would have been down in the hole in two second flat if I hadn't stopped her.

While I praised the pets, I took inventory of my surroundings.

The rear of the cabin was visible from my hiding spot in a thicket of scrub underbrush. The light had grown so dim due to the storm and the fading afternoon, that I had an advantage. The place seemed abandoned. I'd never have noticed it, except for the cries of the woman within. If Pleasant was in there, alone, now might be my best opportunity. I took it and crept to the back of the house, after I'd admonished the dogs to stay back.

As I closed in, I saw movement in one of the windows. I hurried there and peered inside. Pleasant Smith, a one-inch-thick chain locked around her waist, cooked something at the stove. Owen DeLong sat in a rustic chair at a small wooden table. He drank rotgut whiskey neat and smoked a cigarette.

Owen looked rough, and Pleasant, for a woman who'd just delivered a baby, was rail thin. Her red hair, so beautiful in the photos I'd seen, was matted to her head, and her clothes didn't fit. She wore a dress two sizes too large for her and designed for a grandmother, not a teenager.

Owen said something I couldn't understand, but Pleasant's response was clearly not to his liking. He stood up and drew back his fist, threatening her. I gripped the gun tighter. If he tried to hit her, I'd shoot him in the leg.

“Hit me.” I heard her clearly now because her voice was raised. “Do it again and I swear, when I get a chance to pay you back, I'll give it to you ten times over.”

“You'd best shut up,” Owen said. “The only value you ever had was that baby. Now that she's gone, Luther won't have much use for you. You can't cook for shit. And you know he can't let you go. He ain't goin' back to prison and neither am I.”

She gave the pot a vicious stir. “Shit is what you deserve to eat.”

“Shut up. That's your last warning. Keep clanging that tongue against the roof of your mouth and I'll smack you in the jaw hard enough to break it. That'll shut you up.”

She didn't back down. She thrust out her chin and essentially dared him. When he stepped away and sat down, she returned to the pot on the stove, revealing a black left eye.

My fingers itched on the gun grip, and I brought it up again. If I could get the drop on Owen and wound him, I could free Pleasant, tie him up, and wait for Coleman to come.

But I had promised Tinkie I would wait. I'd given my word, and in the past I'd taken far too many risks. I'd put myself and others in great danger. I owed it to those who cared for me to wait.

I drew in a long breath and accepted the limitations before me. Moving with great care, I left the window and ducked back into the underbrush about twenty feet from the cabin. I was close enough to hear anything happening inside, but not a sitting duck outlined against the cabin wall if someone unexpectedly stepped out the back door. I could wait it out. It wouldn't be long. Coleman would be here any minute. I'd left my path clearly marked by breaking branches and drawing arrows in the dirt, just as I'd promised. Coleman could follow those tracks with a blindfold on.

The wind kicked up and whipped the tops of the trees into a frenzy. This time the bottom was going to fall out for sure. Sweetie whined, her nose in the air. Chablis came to my side, her underbite fierce as she growled.

“What's wrong?” They sensed something that I couldn't hear, see, or smell. Before I could grab her, Sweetie shot across the cabin yard just as I heard the rattle and squeal of a vehicle bumping over the rutted road. For a moment my heart lifted. Coleman was on the way. But my hopes were dashed. A black pickup inched out of the dense trees and pulled into the front yard.

Luther Potter got out, and he held a shotgun at port arms.

*   *   *

Before I could even call her name, Sweetie Pie shot across the front yard and slammed into Potter so hard she knocked his legs out from under him.

“You damn dog,” Potter screamed, scrabbling for the gun, which had gone flying into the dirt. I wanted to rush forward, but there wasn't time. When Potter had the shotgun in his grasp, he rose to his knees and fired both barrels at Sweetie.

I had no time to think or calculate risk. I ran for the back door, praying Owen would rush out the front to see what Potter was shooting at. I edged inside and found myself in a pantry with rotting garbage in one corner. Holding my breath, I creaked open the back door.

Pleasant had her hands on the chain, struggling to push it down her hips. She saw me and her eyes widened, but she didn't make a sound.

“I'm here to help you, but we have to hurry.”

She nodded, pressing harder on the chain that seemed hung at the widest point of her very narrow hips.

“Where's the key?” I asked.

“Luther. He keeps it on him. What's he shooting at?” Another two blasts made me cringe.

“My dog.” Fear for Sweetie zipped through me, but I had to get Pleasant free and away.

The chain was attached to a bolt in the floor, and I was reminded of my interview with Buster at the prison. Potter's time in Parchman hadn't been completely wasted. He'd learned how to bolt a human being down.

The chain was too thick to smash with a hammer, and it was closed with a padlock stout enough that I'd need a key or a bolt cutter, neither of which was in my possession.

“Help me push down on the chain. I've lost a lot of weight since Luther checked it. I think I can wiggle out.”

Pleasant was painfully thin. Her stomach was barely bloated from the baby weight, and her arms and legs and face were almost bone and skin. I tried to roll the chain down over her hips. “It's too tight,” I said.

“Keep trying. We can force it.”

“And take your hide with it.”

“I don't care. I have to get away. I have to find my baby.”

I realized then I could tell her one thing that would make all the difference in the world.

“The baby is safe. I swear to you. She's in great hands and as soon as I get you out of here I'll take you to her.”

Outside, the shotgun blasted again, and I wanted to rush to the front of the house and shoot Potter and Owen. In fact, I didn't actually have another option. If they came in and caught us trying to escape, they'd kill us both. I didn't doubt it for an instant. I had to act while I still had the element of surprise.