Turkey Ranch Road Rage (11 page)

I didn’t see that she was shouldering any responsibility for anything now, but maybe I just wasn’t seeing the whole picture. Come to think of it, I didn’t want to see any more of the picture at all. “I’m going back to my room, climb back into bed and hope this was all just a really bad dream.”

“Oh, no, Jolene, you can’t do that. You need to get your shower right now and get dressed. We’ve got to be at the rally by nine.”

Chapter
Six

No, there had been no previous warning about “the rally” and no, I didn’t know what the rally was even for, although an anti-park demonstration was a fairly good guess.

Lucille hadn’t done much explaining either, only order-giving. I’ll spare you the “are you going to wear ‘that’,” and the “put on some makeup” scenes, but the battle lines were clearly drawn. I wore the shorts and tee shirt anyway. Again she insisted we take her car. She also insisted that I drive so she could concentrate on “other things.” Probably what hell she could inflict on me next and the series of lies she could tell about it. Not that I was jaded or cynical at this point.

She was still deep in thought as I pulled her Buick off the highway onto Turkey Ranch Road and drove a couple miles down the blacktop.

The sides of the right-of-way had been recently mowed and the smell of fresh cut grass filtered in through the air conditioner. I could see a group of vehicles ahead and drove toward them. About thirty people and two news van trucks with cameras rolling were clustered at the entrance to the Little Ranch. Rock pillars supporting a big iron archway with “Little Ranch” welded into the top of the frame made a photogenic backdrop.

“We’re late, Jolene, and you know how I hate to be late,” Lucille said in a frantic, maybe even panicked, huff. “I just cannot stand to be late, and if we’re not fifteen minutes early, we are late!”

The obligatory “it’s your fault” was plainly inferred and did not need to be stated aloud. My stomach didn’t knot up with childhood angst as I have matured past all that, but I did help myself to two Tums from Mother’s bottle in the seat just to be on the safe side.

The green digital numbers on the dash glowed eight-fifty. “We aren’t late, Mother, we’re actually about ten minutes early.”

“Well, obviously we’re not early enough! We should have been here by eight thirty at the latest. Oh, my Lord!” Lucille gasped and pointed through the gate and up the hill.

The topography in these parts is relatively flat to really flat, but in this one place, there happened to be a plateau-like spot that jutted up above the surrounding prairie. Naturally, the house was built on it. There were even real trees up there around the house and it had the only view, so to speak, for miles. It was a picturesque setting even from here, except for all the police cars with flashing lights.

“What on earth is going on here?” Lucille said, still not sure what she had been late for.

The Buick was still rolling to a stop as she vaulted out and raced into the middle of the crowd.

I found a place to park without blocking the road then made my way back to where my mother had jumped out. It didn’t take but a few seconds—and the guiding light of a TV camera—to locate Lucille Jackson. She was in the middle of an interview with a local news personality. I’m not sure the guy behind the mike understood what was happening to him, but I sure did. My mother was appearing to be a cooperative witness when, in fact, she was actually grilling the reporter for what he knew.

It wasn’t pretty and I’m sorry that I had to bear witness to it, but I did find out what was going on.

Bob Little was missing.

Apparently one of the out of town activists had gone up to talk to him earlier this morning to explain about the rally, ask permission, get his side of the story, that sort of thing, and Little Bob was nowhere to be found. There were, however, definite signs of foul play. Exactly what signs, no one knew, but they were indeed definite, and foul, or so went the rumor.

Dismissing the reporter, Mother pulled a purple umbrella from her infamous purse and popped it open for some purple shade. She then dug out her glittery gold glasses case and pulled out oversized shades, which were darned close to the color of the umbrella as well as the big purple hoops clipped to her earlobes. Properly outfitted and color-coordinated, she made her way through the growing crowd, trawling for more information. I kept a discreet distance behind her, wishing for my own shade-on-a-stick, purple or otherwise, since it was already hot enough to bake biscuits.

After a half hour or so, Mother gave up her crusade and headed back toward the car, something I’d wanted to do from the beginning.

I fished in my pocket for the keys and when I looked up, a flash of reflective light on the road from the house caught my eye. “What’s that?”

Mother spun around and surveyed the long driveway. “Why, it looks like a car!”

While I mentally berated myself for my keen vision and big mouth, Mother high-tailed it back through the crowd to the iron gate and planted herself front and center on the right side so she’d be next to the driver’s window as the car came through. I reluctantly followed.

As the vehicle got closer, there was no doubt it was the sheriff’s vehicle and Jerry was behind the wheel. We exchanged glances, but there was no opportunity for much else as media people swarmed the truck.

Butting aside seasoned news reporters, Lucille grabbed on to the truck’s door. “Now, Jerry Don Parker, I need to have a word with you. I want to know just exactly what’s going on around here. What makes you think something’s happened to Bob?” Lucille leaned closer to the car window. “And who’s that in there with you? Is that a witness in there with you? Is she the one that saw the foul play? ”

Lights flashed and reporters shoved microphones toward the open sheriff’s car, the swarm trying to nudge Lucille aside. Mother didn’t budge and Jerry didn’t respond to any of their questions immediately. The gritty glare he sent in my direction, however, spoke volumes as he has been down this road with Lucille before. When he still said nothing, I figured I should get a look at his passenger and foul play witness for future reference. About a year ago I would have assumed that none of this was my concern and I would have kept my nose out of it. I am much wiser now.

Engaging my journalistic objectivity, I jostled myself away from a pushy cameraman who was filming a reporter giving the short version. I finally heard what she was saying, “Local businessman and rancher Robert John Little is believed to be missing. The Little Ranch is the site of a proposed private camping park that has drawn protests from some local residents. The Bowman County sheriff’s office has been at the home investigating.” The well-dressed woman turned around and shoved the microphone toward the vehicle where Jerry sat. “Can you tell us what you found, Sheriff?”

I leaned around Mother to get a better look at Jerry.

I blinked, frowned and then looked again.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head.

A barely-out-of-her-teens girl with auburn hair peeked out from beneath a floppy straw hat. She was clearly trying to avoid the cameras, but I still saw her put her finger to her lips in a universal signal to keep my mouth shut.

I am very certain that I did not keep my mouth shut. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was flopping open and shut like a carp sucking reeds. She didn’t need to worry about me saying anything though. I couldn’t. In fact, I could barely gasp.

Jerry Don Parker mumbled something to the reporters that amounted to “no comment,” then promptly sped away.

With my daughter in the passenger seat.

Chapter
Seven

“
Now, Jolene, don’t you be getting all upset,” Lucille said, racing along behind me. “Remember what I told you yesterday at the cemetery, about people doing things and needing to hear their explanations before you go jumping to conclusions. You remember that?”

Oh, I remembered. I’d also just had a refresher in what it feels like to be gutted like a fish too. I was remembering that really well at the moment and I didn’t like it. “I suggest you start explaining,” I said, hurrying toward the car. She didn’t respond immediately, but I knew she was still right behind me. “You’d better start talking, and fast.”

“Now, Jolene,” Lucille hollered, sprinting along quite deftly behind me. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“You have no idea what I’m thinking,” I said, pulling the car keys out of my pocket as I marched toward the car.

“Well, with that imagination of yours, and your insecurities and such, well, I suppose you might be thinking there’s something untoward going on with Sarah and Jerry Don, which of course there isn’t, it is strictly business.”

I shot her a glare and kept walking. “And exactly what business would that be and how would you know about it?”

“Well, I guess I don’t exactly know.”

Oh, she knew. My hands were shaking, but I pointed the clicker at the Buick then opened the car door and hopped in, starting the car in one smooth motion. I gripped the steering wheel with both hands, not only to still the shaking but to keep from doing bodily harm to the lying deceitful woman climbing into the car next to me.

Mother had managed to decompress her umbrella during the sprint and she closed the door and buckled up in record time. She was huffing and puffing a little, probably more out of fear than physical exertion. She was also probably using it to get a little sympathy in hopes it would buy her some time to make up more lies. It wouldn’t.

There was really only one thing to do, go after them. I knew if I headed south on Turkey Ranch Road, I’d hit the main highway, but I also knew there was a short cut to the county seat and jail. “What’s the quickest way to Bowman City from here?”

Lucille fidgeted in her seat, and from the corner of my eye I thought I could see beads of sweat on her face. It was not from the heat or the hurrying to the car either. I had no idea what the woman had done, or why she needed Sarah here to help her do it, but I would. Oh, but I would. “Which way?” I repeated.

“Well, you can take this on out to the cutoff. It runs into the main highway.” She reached up and fiddled with her hair. “I suppose a drive to Bowman City is probably just as good a thing to do as any other, although we were just there yesterday.”

If my eyes could have indeed nailed her to the wall, they would have, or at least to the Buick’s plush velour seat. “Since my daughter is with the Bowman County Sheriff and that’s where his office is, it seems like that would be the place to go. So either you don’t want me to go there or you know something I don’t. Let’s hear it,” I said through gritted teeth. Now.”

“Well, you don’t have to be so hateful about it. Just look at you, you’ve gotten yourself worked up into such a state, why you’re acting like you did back in high school when you got so jealous over that Rhonda girl.” She shook her head and tsk-tsked. “Like I said, I’m sure there’s a very good explanation for why Sarah was in the truck with Jerry Don.”

I was quite sure there wasn’t. But my concern was far different than she implied.

There’s no point pretending that some fearful thoughts hadn’t shot through my brain. My daughter was beautiful, intelligent, charming and young, and I had plenty of experience with men who couldn’t be trusted around such things, my ex-husband’s adulterous cavorting with a twenty-something twit being a fine and appropriate example. It had shaken my self confidence for a while, but eventually I realized that Danny, like water, had simply been seeking his own level. I’d sworn I’d never get myself entangled with another immature, self-absorbed, emotionally unavailable man. But, clearly having not learned my lesson, I immediately did. It was a brutal ride; an emotional roller coaster with highs like I could have never imagined and lows that nearly buried me. The man pushed every fear button I had then slammed me for feeling insecure about it. Yes, I needed professional help for a couple of months, but I managed to re-grow a spine and got out of the relationship. I avoided dating for a long time after that, fumbled through a few dates here and there, and pretty much decided to give up on the whole idea of having a mate. Then, of course, my mother became insane, and one thing led to another and I found myself re-smitten with Jerry Don Parker. Now the question became, did I really trust him.

During my indulgent trip down memory lane, Lucille had been babbling nonstop. Luckily, I’ve mastered the technique of half-listening to her, which worked out pretty well since less than half of what she says has a point to it and the rest is lies, I don’t really miss much.

Her tale about Sarah coming down from Boulder with some of her ecology class friends for a “field trip” was fairly believable—unless you knew that Lucille had instigated the whole thing and that there was no actual ecology class, at least not one I’d paid for. The fact that she was in town “under cover” was right up there with plausible since being Lucille’s granddaughter—or my daughter—she was guaranteed guilt by association if she played that straight. So, yes, being an out-of-state enviro-nut gave her a clean slate—sort of. Why that was important was anything but clear, however. And exactly none of it explained one damn thing about why she was leaving a crime scene with the sheriff.

Realizing my hands had gone numb from gripping the steering wheel so tightly, I stretched out my fingers to relieve any sliver of tension I could. It didn’t help that much. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Why is Sarah here and where is she?” She didn’t answer or try to change the subject so I picked up my phone. “Fine. I probably should call Jerry anyway and let him know—”