Saving Cecil (24 page)

In the doghouse, he and I quickly made things shipshape for the move to the new site. One of the crew would pick it up later. Knowing I wasn't needed there and considering how little sleep I'd had in the last twenty-four hours, I had plans of my own. I was going home to see Bud, hear all about the hog hunt, and maybe grab a few hours of sleep before Chris came over to fill us in on the capture of Junior.

As soon as we'd finished, Jackie headed back to the rig and I went to the Hummer. Tulip was napping. I let her out for a potty break. While I waited, I worried about the Lauderbachs. I had a feeling the police had caught Junior at their home. I felt instantly sad for them. On the other hand, he'd probably be locked away permanently for an offense as serious as intending to use a weapon of mass destruction. Homeland Security would have to be notified and they take of dim view of anything involving bombs. Heartbreaking as it was, the Lauderbachs would learn to live with it and their farm was now safe … in more ways than one. Tulip finished with her business, jumped back in the Hummer, and we headed home.

I used the main farm road and had to pass the Lauderbach home. I slowed up as I did because I was just in time to see Junior, hands cuffed behind his back, being led to a waiting deputy's car. Ruby and Annette stood on the front porch, their hands clasped together, and watched their baby leave their lives, likely forever.

The sight was so disturbing, I had to turn away.

A short ways up the road, the shoulder widened and I pulled over. Seeing the two women had so distressed me that I needed a minute to calm myself. I rested my forehead in my palm. If only I could do or say something. Then I realized they'd had no report as to the well status following their son's attempt to destroy it and that was, after all, my job.

I waited until the caravan of deputies and the sheriff's Interceptor went by, then executed a u-ey and went to the Lauderbach home.

Ruby opened the door and silently took me to the sunroom. As I slipped past her to enter, she spoke. “Before I fetch Miz Lauderbach, I want to thank you for what you did for Luther last night. The emergency folks said if it weren't for you, he'd be dead. I'm going to the hospital to be with him soon's I get Miz Lauderbach.”

“How is he doing?”

“The doctors said it'll take some time, but he'll make a full recovery. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate all you did for him and how sorry I am for … believing in Junior when I shouldn't have.”

“Sometimes a situation can be so difficult, it's hard to know what to do.”

“Still, I ought to have cottoned on to the signs that he was off his meds,” she choked back a sob before saying, “I'll go get Miz Lauderbach for you.”

When Annette joined me, her face was twisted with stress. Mothers the universe over share a deep connection when it comes to their offspring. Often, no words are necessary. She took one look at me and fresh tears welled in her eyes. I held out my arm. She leaned into me and I led her to the couch.

As I lightly rubbed her boney, frail shoulders, she fought to regain her composure. Once she did, she proceeded to relay to me all that had happened. How a group of sheriff's deputies had banged on the door and demanded to be let in. How they swarmed the house and grounds, some even going to the barns, searching for Junior. The more she talked the more upset she got. My attempts to calm her failed and she vented on.

It was surprising to hear how long the search had taken and that Junior might have escaped entirely if Ruby—having had time to think about how sick he really was—hadn't suggested they go back and look in the chicken house again. The detectives had given it a cursory glance on their first search, but found him the second time. He'd hidden himself behind a burlap screen in the overhead roosts.

I asked Annette if she was aware that Junior had changed his major from animal science to business. “I am now,” she sobbed, dabbing her eyes with a worn paper towel. “He told the sheriff and his detective all about how he'd had to change majors to business because his father and I were too stupid to know what was best for us. He thought our plans for tapping into our own resources on this farm and using the money to update a business that served this family for generations was a pipe dream that would all blow up in our faces.”

She inhaled a shuddering breath, then said bitterly, “And what did he do when it looked like our plan was going to be a success? He stacked the deck, planted a bomb, and nearly blew himself and lots of innocent people up!” Dropping her head in her hands, she cried softly.

“Could I fix you a cup of tea,” I offered. “I know Ruby has gone
to see Luther, but I'm sure I could manage for you.”

“I'm way ahead of you,” Arthur said from his wheelchair in the doorway. “I was just coming to see if I could get anything for you, lovey. ” Annette tried yet again to pull herself together, blowing her nose and taking a deep breath. Arthur surveyed his wife sadly, then turned to me. “Cleo,” he said, “what a kind gesture you've made in coming to see us.”

“I hope I haven't made things worse,” I said. “It's my job to see that you are kept in the loop on all affairs pertaining to the well. So, for your peace of mind, please know that neither it nor the temporary cap were damaged in any way. The gas will flow on schedule once the pipeline is connected.”

“At least we have that,” Arthur said with a sigh. “Life sometimes deals you a hard blow. You just have to face it and move on. To tell you the truth, we've lived in fear for years, haven't we, lovey?”

“Yes, dear,” Annette said with a sniff.

“Particularly when we'd see on the news where a mentally unstable person off their meds wreaked havoc somewhere, taking the lives of the innocent. It seems to happen more and more often these days. At least he didn't kill Luther and I understand we have you to thank for that, Cleo.”

When I couldn't think of a proper reply, he continued, “And we have one other thing to be grateful for.”

“I can't imagine what,” Annette said sorrowfully.

“Well, it's a small thing really,” Arthur said. “But when a person is as sick as Junior, they need all the understanding hearts and open minds around them they can get.” Annette gave him a confused look. “The sheriff, of course,” Arthur said. “Remember, he's been in practically the same situation.”

Huh?

“Oh,” Annette said and turned to me. “He is referring to the sheriff's daughter. She's at Mary Hill Institute, it's a home for … well, let's say the mentally challenged, and will be for the rest of her life. They say she is very dangerous. She attacked several people before the sheriff and his wife finally got he
r committed. In their defense, it is quite difficult to get someone committed, even if you are the person's parent.”

She got up and fussed with the throw over Arthur's knees as I struggled to take in what she'd just said. “Anyway,” she continued, taking her seat beside me again, “recently a rumor started around that she had confessed to a murder. It was quickly quelled. The sheriff's wife is quite influential in social circles around here.
Folks just dropped it so I guess there was no truth to it, but still, with the sheriff trying to get reelected, I'm sure it was embarrassing.”

Annette could have turned purple and levitated from the couch and I wouldn't have been any more shocked. “I … I've never heard a word about the sheriff having a daughter, mentally disturbed or not. How old is she?”

“Well, let's see now,” Arthur said, clearly relieved to be talking about someone else's problems. “Maybe mid-forties if the Stuckeys were in their mid-twenties when they had her and that's just a guess based on the sheriff being close to sixty-five now. From what we heard, she's been out there on and off since she was a teenager. They say she is completely and dangerously insane.”

“I'm just stunned,” I said. “I've lived around here all my life and I never heard of her. Of course, way back then I was skipping grades in high school on the fast track to college. Naturally, I had a lot going on in my life at that time.”

“Very few people knew, dear,” Annette said. “She was so unstable, the Stuckeys kept her hidden away. She didn't even attend public school. Thelma Stuckey home-schooled her. We would never have known about her either if it weren't for seeing the Stuckeys with her out at Mary Hill from time to time when we'd have to take Junior … ”

“The point is,” Arthur continued, “he's bound to be kinder to Junior knowing that he's unstable and not responsible for his actions. It's not like he's some criminal.”

Time for me to leave.
I stood and patted Annette on the shoulder, and as I shook hands with Arthur a thought crossed my mind. It probably wasn't the best time to bring it up, but it needed immediate attention. “Arthur,” I said. “I hate to bring this up right now when you're dealing with such a difficult situation, but last night, before he was injured, Luther told me he'd noticed pig tracks close to the clay pit … ”

“Oh my!” Arthur exclaimed. “Sounds like feral hogs have made it to our land. We can't have them damaging … what was his name?”

“Cecil,” Annette offered.

“Thank you, my dear. Yes, we can't have hogs damaging Cecil. What do you propose?”

“A fence,” I said. “Actually I'm on my way home right now and I could stop by Lowes in Sanford and have enough fencing and a gate sent out here to do the job if you have the men to install it.”

“I have the men and I will also take care of sending them to purchase the fencing. And, I'll supervise the installation. No need for you to worry about any of this. It will be just the ticket to occupy me.”

“Are you sure? I mean with Luther hurt … ”

“Nonsense, I have plenty of men on the farm who can drive me where I need to go and I'm getting stronger every day,” Arthur said and reached for my hand again. He gave it a gentle pat. “You run along, now, I'll take care of it.”

The Hummer purred to life with a comforting rumble—a sound I was learning to enjoy—but I didn't leave immediately. Instead, I sat, thinking, my wrist resting on the steering wheel. The sheriff had a daughter confined to a home for the criminally insane? I wanted to know more about this intriguing bit of information and I knew just who to ask.

TWENTY-FIVE

Though my dad had
never mentioned that the sheriff had a daughter, I had a feeling he'd know something about her. Another call to him was definitely in order. Besides, he still hadn't told me whether he was coming to the wedding and now it was only weeks away. I pulled him up on my iPhone and marveled at the clarity of his ring halfway around the world off the African coast. Already anticipating being dumped into his voicemail, I was pleasantly surprised when he picked up.

“Hi, honey,” he said.

“Dad!” I blurted, checking my watch. “Are you off work? What's the time there, about six?”

“Uh … actually I'm kind of in the middle of something right now. Can I call you back?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. When? Dad? Dad?”

Cyberspace buzzed between us, but not before I'd heard the distinctive sound of a flock of crows. Now, last time I checked, there were no crows fifty miles off the coast of Mozambique. Seagulls? Yes. Crows? No.

Where was my dad and what was he up to?

I put the Hummer in gear and pulled back onto the main farm road. Zipping along, roiling a trail of dry dust, I was contemplating the surreal nature of the events of the past twenty-four hours when I happened to pass an unfamiliar path on my right. Or was it?

I slammed on the brakes and backed up to it. Looking out the passenger window, I realized it was one of the shortcuts I'd taken last night with Luther. Suddenly my memory kicked in and I banged my fist on the wheel. Shit!

I'd forgotten all about my Beretta. It was still in my canvas tote back at Junior's bomb-making shack. Rerunning last night's trip through the woods as best I could considering my fatigue, I was pretty sure the shack could be reached using this very path.

If I was right, it intersected with the newer road I'd encountered. The one Junior had used in hiding his shed where he thought no one would find it. In truth a blind man could have found it. Or, in my case, a geologist flagging wellsites.

My stomach rumbled. I hadn't eaten since this time yesterday when I'd lunched with Bud, Chris, and the Wildlife officers. Deciding it was more important to retrieve my Beretta than feed my face, I backed the Hummer and turned down the path. It wouldn't take but a few minutes and I take ownership of a gun very seriously. They are a big responsibility. No matter how upset I'd been late yesterday, securing it should have been a top priority.

The shed came into view just where I'd thought it would. Rolling to a stop in front of it, I was surprised to see both doors still hanging from their hinges relatively undamaged. There was, however, a huge hole where the latch had been. I also noted the 2 x 4 board—formally nailing the doors shut—was still where I'd tossed it after tak
ing it off Luther's chest. I shut off the Hummer but left the door open while I stepped into the dim light in the shed. My first thought: don't be a chump again. I went back out and, using the 2 x 4 board, I jamm
ed the door open.

Back inside, I was struck at how empty the spot was where I'd left my canvas tote. I blinked in confusion. Where the hell was my canvas tote? Definitely not where I'd left it. I wanted to scramble around through the trash and junk on the shelves but it wasn't necessary. I could clearly see that the tote was gone, and besides, this was a crime scene.

Evidence samples would have to be taken from the bomb-making materials in case they were ever needed in court. I gingerly lifted the tattered bean bags, one at a time, and looked under each one but I knew the tote wasn't there. I had a clear memory of where it had been situated when I'd tucked the little gun in it for safekeeping while I napped. There was only one answer as to what had happened to it. Someone had toted it off. But who?

Had the sheriff's deputies already been here? Logic said no, since there was no tape up yet denoting the area as a crime scene. I was trying to think of how to go about reporting a gun missing when outside Tulip started barking ferociously. Then I heard the rumble of a car with a large engine.

Stuckey! I moved to the shack entrance just as his Interceptor pulled up behind my Hummer. Tulip jumped out and ran to my side, her lips curled over her teeth.

“Nice dog. Friendly too,” Stuckey said as he sauntered over to me, my canvas tote swinging from his fingers. “Looking for this?”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” I said with way more bravado than I felt. “In all the confusion last night, I accidentally left it behind. Since it has my 380 in it, and being the responsible gun owner that I am, I came to retrieve it as soon as I possibly could.”

“Guns,” Stuckey said, nodding in agreement, “are useful and dangerous all at the same time. And for a civilian like you … well, you never know when the dangerous part might outweigh the useful part. You know what I mean?”

“No,” I said flatly.

“Well,” he said, removing the belt and holster from the tote before letting it fall to the ground. “It would be very easy for a person in your line of work to trip over a branch way back in the woods and have the gun fly out of its holster and go off accidentally. A thing like that happen … no telling where the bullet would go. Why, it could hit you in any number of places that would be fatal.” He withdrew the Beretta from the holster, which he let drop on the bag. Then he pointed the gun right at me.

“Stuckey … ” I said with as much don't-do-it inflection in my voice as I could muster.

“Why, you could accidentally be hit in the groin,” he said, adjusting his aim to hit mine. “You know, a direct hit to the femoral artery and you'd bleed out in eight minutes. Or,” he shifted his aim up to my chest, “a shot through the heart and it's lights out instantly.”

I was standing in the doorway to the shed and got that feeling—the one you get when a confrontation with someone is inevitable. You try to avoid it, but suddenly, for whatever reason, you just can't anymore, the time has arrived. Well, this was the time for Stuckey and me. Deciding to force his intentions, I hopped out of the doorway and took a few strides toward him. Sure enough, he swung my little Beretta right up in my face and took a two-handed stance. With my Krav Maga training in mind, I stopped a foot from the muzzle of the gun. “I'll take my chances,” I said. “Now give me my property.”

“I don't think you fully appreciate the severity of your predicament, here, Miss Margot...”

“Cooper,” I corrected him. “My name is Cooper.”

“Right, how could I forget that fancy pants smart aleck who paid for another fancy pants smart aleck to get your dad off with only a few years in the pen when he should have gotten the big sleep.”

“You know my dad didn't kill Francis Gary Wayne. You know it today same as you knew it back during the trial,” I said. “Why'd you do it Stuckey? What was in it for you? Sure, you two had a little high school vendetta going, but that was hardly reason to send a man to die like a dog by lethal injection.”

“Why don't you ask him? He and his buddies think they've got all the answers. They just keep nosing around. I tried to send him a message by letting him know how chancy life is, how one minute you have it and the next it can be taken from you. Apparently he didn't get it. Maybe he needs for me to send a clearer one … ”

“You crazy bastard, you shot my tire, didn't you?”

“I'm not the one who's crazy,” Stuckey growled. “Pete's the one who's crazy. He should've heeded the message that something might happen to you if he didn't end his ignorant quest to clear his precious name. Like anyone around here would care! My reputation is the one that counts, missy, and whatever it takes to make your dad see that and back off, I'm willing to do!”

“I've got news for you, old man. You most definitely
are
crazy.” Then, thinking a quick dose of reality in the form of a sarcastic insult would let him know he wasn't scaring me and cause him to back down, I added, “You're as crazy as your daughter. Now holster my gun, place it on my bag, and go back where you came from.”

Stuckey's face turned three shades of purple and instead of doing what I asked, he firmed his stance and stiffened his arms. Not exactly what I had in mind. Time to find out if all those Krav Maga lessons were worth it. I'd already taken step one. I'd assessed my situation.

I was facing an attacker with a gun pointed at my face. I had to count on two things being certain: If I touched the gun, it would go boom! And, Stuckey would back up a few steps.

With those two things in mind, I dropped my head below the level of the gun simultaneously grabbing it with both hands and kicking him in the balls with my right foot. As promised by my instructor, it went off, straight in the air, but I didn't let that slow the forward momentum of my right leg.

I kept pushing Stuckey backward, while rotating the gun and shoving it downward toward his belly. The instant I felt his fingers give, I jerked my Beretta free of his grasp, threw a fresh round in the chamber and opened the distance between us. The entire maneuver took less than five seconds.

Seeing Stuckey crumpled in a ball on the ground didn't make me feel much better … well, maybe a little, but I imagine it would have made my instructor proud as a peacock. With baby nine aimed to kill, I commanded, “Let go of your balls. Take your Glock out of your holster. Hold it straight out using thumb and forefinger.”

Stuckey groaned but did as requested.

Using my left hand, I took away the big revolver, tossed it in the underbrush on the other side of the path where it'd take him a while to find it, and said, “What now, maniac? Where should I shoot you to make it look like you were checking out the bomb shack wit
h gun drawn, tripped coming out of the shed, and accidentally shot yourself? Maybe the stomach? Does a nice slow bleed out sound like a good way to spend a beautiful fall afternoon?”

Stuckey didn't respond, just remained wadded in a ball, his face red as a beet. Still taking dead aim with arms outstretched, I sidestepped to my tote, picked it and the holster up, and draped them over my shoulder. Then I moved closer to the door of the Hummer and said, “Or, maybe I should just drive off and leave you to consider the fact that you
are
crazy. You've done crazy things. Maybe ponder what to do about it. What do you think?”

His words were muffled, but it sounded like “drive off” to me.

So I did.

I couldn't put down the miles between me and the insanity that had become the Lauderbach Dairy Farm fast enough. That I had just escaped being killed by a lunatic sheriff that had hated me and my father for over half my life was more than I could take in at the moment. All I could think of was Bud and the deep feelings of safety and peace I got whenever I was with him.

Had it really taken being back here in the same area where he and I first met and experiencing yet another living nightmare to make me realize this? Apparently so. And still, there were so many hurdles to jump before we could be together again. Not the least of which was the wedding itself. I shuddered at the thought as I pulled into my drive. It was a little after one in the afternoon and I was exhausted. Thank goodness no one was home.

Foregoing food or drink, I passed through the kitchen, Tulip dragging behind me—she was whipped too—and headed upstairs to my room. Slashes of sunlight beamed through the plantation shutters and played across my bed. I flopped face down on them and closed my eyes gratefully.

I heard Tulip spring into her favorite chair. She scratched her mohair throw to suit her exacting specifications and exhaled a contented sigh. I sighed too. Then my iPhone rang. I opened one eye to see who it was. Bud.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he chirped. “You won't believe everything that's going on in Cooperland!”

“Bud,” I said, smiling in spite of my fatigue. “Right now, I'd believe anything. I'm so tired and I have so much to tell you about what happened today and I want to hear all about your adventures as a big game hunter. I just need to rest for a few hours.”

“Rest?” he asked. “You mean you're home? I thought you'd be busy making arrangements for the paleontologists to come in, and setting everything up so your replacement can take over as wellsite geologist while we're on our honeymoon. You said you'd need days to do all that.”

“I will,” I yawned. “And I'll get it all done. Just not today. Like I said, right now I need a few hours rest.”

“Do you need me to come over and help you … rest,” he offered provocatively.

“No!” I insisted. “You can come over later. Say around suppertime.”

“Well, that'll work perfect then. We'll all get together at your house for a Cooper family spaghetti dinner, okay? But first, before I let you go, you'll never guess who's sitting here in my office.”

“Uh … ” My one open eyelid drooped.

“Pete!” he chirped, unable to wait for my guess.

“Who?”

“Your dad, babe!”

I knew it!
“I had a feeling he wasn't in Africa,” I said. “When did he get in?”

“Oh, he's been here for about a week and does he have a tale for you.”

“I want to hear it now!” I sat up. The room spun and my head pounded.
Ugh.
“On second thought … ”

“Get your rest, babe. Your dad and I still have a lot to talk about. We'll be over about seven with Will and Henri and Chris. Henri has some news for you too.”

I laid back down. “More wedding news, I bet,” I said, trying to stifle another big yawn.

“Yes, more wedding news. Rest now. We'll see you later.”

I went to sleep, smiling, already knowing what Henri's news would be. She had been agonizing over whether to spend $800—the sale price—for a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes she desperately wanted for the wedding. My guess: she had.