Calamity Jayne and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Lawn Gnome (29 page)

"And Dusty?"

"He was four years behind Rick's dad in high school. He could be a strange ranger, too. Dusty, not my son. As I recall he was heavy into science fiction. Quiet kid. Nice, but a little off, if you know what I mean. Why all the interest in Dusty Cadwallader, and what's he doing calling you?"

I hesitated. It was always a tough call on how much to tell Joe and how much to hold back. Either way, it generally backfired on me.

"He's been helping me out on this vandalism story. You know. As a source," I said. "And I guess he kind of went missing."

"How does someone 'kind of' go missing?"

"Well, his family thinks he's missing."

"But didn't you say that was him calling?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess he isn't 'kind of' missing any more. What did he say?"

"That's just it. He didn't say anything. All I could hear was a lot of background noise and wind noise."

"And you're concerned?"

I shrugged. "The family requested the county do a welfare check yesterday, and they couldn't make contact."

"Let me guess. You figure, given the call you just received, you ought to go check on him yourself, right?"

"Well, I, uh…"

"Sounds like a good idea," he said.

"It does?"

"Of course it does. His family says he's missing. The authorities couldn't locate him. The guy just called, but you couldn't make contact."

"Well, his cell service is spotty…"

"The guy could need help. We better go."

And there it was.

Bang
!

The backfire.

"We? What
we
?"

"I've got time to kill," he said. "And I haven't done a ride-along in a while."

Apparently the
Green Hornet
here had chosen to hit the 'delete' button on his past ride alongs with me. Suffice to say our teaming up in the past hadn't worked out so well.

"Wait a minute? What about Gram?"

Joe waved her off.

 "She's good for at least two hours," he said. "If we get hung up for time, I'll tell her to go ahead with that tattoo she's been considering. The tattoo place is just three doors down."

I looked at him.

"I don't even want to know."

After a quick stop at the drive-through joint for breakfast, (hey, a girl has to eat) we headed out of town.

"So how's the dating game with my grandson going?" Joe asked.

"Awesome! Swell! Amazing! Like totally…"

I pooped out at the end there.

"That bad?" he said.

"No! Of course not. We're still new to the dating scene, Joe. We've only had three or four dates. And you know how one of them turned out, thanks to you and Mrs.
Person of Interest
."

"You bailed before the night was over, anyway. Rick was none too happy about that, let me tell you."

"What? He told me to go. He said he'd be fine."

Joe shook his head.

"You really know nothing about men. What was he supposed to say? Ignore your job. Stay with me and Grandma and Grandpa?"

"You mean 'Stalker Grandma and Grandpa,'" I corrected. "We just haven't hit our stride yet," I told him. "Discovered our optimum speed and gait."

"Gait? Stride? You sound like you're talking about the Triple Crown." He shook his head. "How romantic. My grandson's a lucky, lucky fellow."

"Now wait just a minute," I said. "I think the terminology works."

"What do you mean, 'works'?"

"Well you see, Joe, the way I figure it, any long-term, committed relationship, like a marriage for example, covers a considerable span of time. It's like a marathon in many respects. You have to prepare, build up your strength and endurance. You have to pace yourself and find that comfortable stride, the easygoing pace that will permit you to have the best shot at finishing the race."

He looked at me.

"I get it now. It's all about staying power, isn't it?"

I straightened my spine and puffed out my chest.

"I'll have you know your grandson has plenty of staying power!" I huffed. "More than plenty!"

"Not that kind of staying power, and I wasn't referring to Rick. I was talking about you, missy."

"Me?

"You've got no stomach for the long haul."

"No stomach? Hello. Do you know me at all? I can down two of Uncle Frank's belly burners with extra jalapeños and a side of chili cheese fries and still have room for ice cream."

He shook his head.

"Not that kind of stomach. I'm talking about intestinal fortitude."

"Like I said, I can put away—"

"Enough with the food! I'm talking about endurance! Resolve! Stamina! Tenacity! Guts!"

"Please, Joe. Don't use that word. Not after my car."

"Don't try to change the subject, Blondie. You ever hear the saying, 'I never promised you a rose garden'?"

"We're talking about gardening? Look who's changing the subject now."

"Funny," Joe said. "All I'm saying is that life doesn't come with a guarantee of anything. There's no guarantee that anything will last, because it doesn't. People die. People change. People leave. That's life. And getting through it requires determination, steadfastness, and pluck. And pluck is one thing you've got in spades, Blondie."

I frowned.

I knew what he was talking about. I knew the qualities it took to successfully maneuver your way through life and relationships. I knew the sacrifices and the hardships. And I also knew, deep down, despite all my fluster and bluster and denials, and despite Joe's assertion that I had pluck "in spades," I wasn't sure I had whatever it was it took to go the distance. I wasn't sure at all.

And I wasn't the only one who would get hurt if I couldn't keep up, if I couldn't stick-to-it, if I couldn't go all the way.

Rick would be hurt, too. And I wasn't sure that was a possibility I could risk.

"Here's Dusty's place," I said, pulling up the incline of his gravel driveway. "That's weird."

"What? What's weird?

"His vehicle. It's still parked in the same spot it was two nights ago."

"You've been out here before?"

"Yes. I told you. Dusty was helping me."

"Yes, you did. But you didn't specify the nature of that help. Would you care to elaborate now?"

Would I?

"I'm covering the vandalism and thefts in the area. You know that. Right? Well, I ran across Dusty at the courthouse, and we got to talking and…"

"And?"

I told him about the report Dusty had been there to file, the pink tornadoes, our subsequent examination of the woods, and the discovery of the pink tornadoes and the spray-paint can, along with the stakeout that had called me away from date night.

"So you see, the last time we saw Dusty, he was fine and planned to go retrieve the four-wheelers the next morning."

"You're telling me both ATVs stopped? They just stopped?" Joe asked.

I nodded.

"Oh, and my car, too."

"Your car?"

I nodded. "But that was down the road a piece."

"And you don't find that…coincidental?"

"What do you mean? You think someone tampered with them?"

"Someone or some
thing
." He started to sing the
Ghostbusters
song.

"Knock it off, Egon" I said. "So not funny."

"Neither is the fact that you decide to wait until we arrive at Area 51 before you bother to tell me that not only have you tracked hoodlums in the woods, but there are cases of strange electrical problems, reports of lights in the sky, and—noteworthy here—a freaking dead zone when it comes to cell phone service."

"You're forgetting the guy who reported alien activity on his property numerous times is also missing, but do go on."

"Here I am, thinking this is at most a heroic rescue operation, and all of a sudden we're Scully and Mulder."

"Oh, really. So you came with me because you might get some recognition and glory? Joe, Joe, Joe. Where's your altruistic side?" I shook my head and tsk-tsked. "Your fellow Rotary Club members would be so disappointed."

"I just don't like being roped into something under false pretenses."

"
Roped
into something? I offered to drop you off, but oh, no, you had time to kill, remember?"

"If I knew I was going to have to listen to your lame comparison between dating my grandson to a never-ending footrace, I wouldn't have come."

"Glory seeker!"

"Commitment-phobe!"

We sat there for a minute while I tried Dusty's phone again. No luck.

I sighed.

"You're right, Joe. You better stay put. It's not an easy walk. Lots of holes and ruts and roots to trip over. And it's pretty warm out there. So, yeah, you're right. You shouldn't risk it. I'll go."

I grabbed my backpack. After our earlier hike in the woods, I'd replenished the energy bars, tossed in a couple bottles of water, and added some basic first aid supplies. I got out of the car, leaned inside the open window, and handed him the car keys.

"If I'm not back in an hour, save yourself and go for help," I said. "If the car starts, that is."

I started to walk in the direction Dusty had taken us two nights earlier.

I heard a car door slam and permitted myself a "nicely played, Tressa" grin before I turned.

"Just stretching my legs," Joe said, from the fender of the car.

"Oh."

I took a few more steps.

"You know, Blondie, you've got a habit of thinking that if a person asks for help, it shows weakness. I figure the opposite. It takes a big person to ask for help."

I thought about it. He was right. It had never been easy for me to ask for help. It still didn't come easy.

"I guess you're right, Joe. Would you come with me? I'd appreciate the company," I said.

Joe nodded and waved his hand.

"I'm good here, but thanks for asking," he said.

I blinked.

"Wait a minute! What? What did you just say—?"

He grinned.

"Simmer down, Scully. I couldn't resist messing with you. I'm coming."

He pulled his Chan Man hat down and adjusted his fanny pack before joining me.

"I suppose I have to call you Mulder then," I told him.

He shook his head.

"I prefer 'Fox.'"

"Of course you do," I said and grabbed his arm. "This way,
Fox
. And watch your step. I wasn't kidding about the rough terrain."

We'd walked about three-quarters of a mile or so when I heard it.

"Hold up. Did you hear that?" I asked.

Joe gave me an "oh, brother" look.

"You trying to get back at me for making you ask for my help and me turning you down?" he asked. "Because that's just sad."

"No! Listen! Do you hear barking?"

We both held our breaths.

"Yep. It's a dog," Joe said. "So what?"

"So, Dusty has a dog, and the police didn't see him when they came looking either. Maybe that's Roswell!"

Joe made a face.

"Roswell? He couldn't come up with a real space dog name like Astro?"

I shrugged.

It was no Butch or Sundance, but it had a certain charm.

"If that's Roswell, maybe he can lead us to Dusty."

We continued along the path we'd taken two nights earlier until we came to the four-wheelers.

"Ooh. Sweet!" Joe jumped on the nearest ATV. "You said they wouldn't start?"

He monkeyed around with the controls for a second before the vehicle roared to life. He revved the motor. "Houston, we have ignition!" he announced. "I say we take these the rest of the way. It will save time if we are on a rescue mission."

He had a point.

"Do you even know how to drive an ATV?" I asked.

"Know how? I was in the military. I drove all kinds of vehicles."

Not exactly the answer I was looking for.

"Try the other one," Joe went on. "See if it starts."

I did. It fired right off, too.

What the heck?

I got a bad feeling then. If both ATVs were operating, why were they still here? Why hadn't Dusty moved them?

Unless…

He couldn't move them.

The helmets were still with the four-wheelers. I put one on and turned to instruct Joe to do the same. I should've known. He already had the camo helmet strapped to his head, the bill of his baseball cap sticking out the front.

He raised a hand.

"Ready for takeoff, Scully!" he yelled.

I sighed.

"Just don't get too close to my tail section, there Mr. Fox," I warned.

"Just Fox. Not Mr. Fox," Joe corrected.

I bit my tongue and edged the ATV ahead, driving over some of the same ground we'd covered by foot the last time. The barking was louder now. I put a hand up before slowing the four-wheeler and coming to a stop and turned to put a finger to my mouth to let Joe know to be quiet.

There it was again. Another faint bark.

"We need to go in by foot from here," I told Joe. "Why don't you stay and keep an eye on things."

"I see. Trying to hog all the glory for yourself," he said. "No way, sister. I'm in!"

"Frankie got chiggers when he was out here," I warned Joe.

"Oh, please. The kid's an insect and allergen magnet."

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you. I don't want to hear you whining later that I didn't provide full disclosure."

"I think the role of Scully is going to someone's head," Joe muttered.

We headed across the timber.

"Roswell! Roswell! Here boy!" I put my fingers in my mouth and let out a long whistle. "Roswell! Here boy!"

"Do you know how lame that sounds?" Joe shook his head. "What kind of dog got stuck with that lame name?"

I put my hand up and pointed.

"That kind of dog," I said, rushing up to the pup.

Joe stared.

"That's a dog? It looks like the dog version of Garfield."

"Dusty did say Roswell had a bit of a weight issue."

I knelt down and petted the overheated dog, reaching in my bag to get a bottle of water before taking my helmet off and pouring some of the water into it.

I held the helmet out to the thirsty animal.

"That a boy, Roswell. Drink up, and then you have to take us to Dusty."