Calamity Jayne and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Lawn Gnome (38 page)

Another short, quick burst of light came and Cissy continued to look skyward. Out of the corner of the mask's eyehole, I saw Martina take advantage of Cissy's lapse. She got to her feet and charged into Cissy from behind. Cissy's knees buckled, and she went down. The knife flew from her hand and landed on the ground next to Martina's hand.

"I'm sorry you don't understand, Cissy," Martina said. "But you're right. It wasn't about you. It was never about you. It was all about the research. It still is."

Martina's bound hands went for the knife, and I stuck my fingers in my mouth, sounding a panicked charge.

 
Reeoreet!

I let loose with the loudest, most eardrum-piercing horse whistle I'd ever produced, and it echoed through the clearing like the battle cry it was.

I yelled and made like the Light Brigade, running full bore ahead, and screeching like a banshee from the Death Star. Or what I figure a banshee would screech like since I've never heard one and don't care to.

"Aaaaaa!"

I had Martina in my sights. I was just about to pounce when a blur of black to my right whooshed past me and plowed into Martina from the side with such ferocity that the mentee flew into the air like a rag doll before landing in a heap in the dirt.

I hurried to Cissy and sat on top of her.

"We're not going to have any trouble are we?" I said, keeping my mask on. "Because you won't like me when I'm angry."

Before Cissy could respond, a high-powered flashlight beam hit me straight on, nearly blinding me.

"Knox County Sheriff!" I heard Deputy Carruthers bark. "Keep your hands up where we can see them!"

I raised my hands above my head.

"Don't shoot! We come in peace!"

Dusty Cadwallader was right. His clearing in the woods was officially ground zero in terms of alien activity.

I had to wonder how close Deputy Carruthers and her reserve officer were to shooting first and asking questions later when they ventured into the clearing to find a six-pack of black-robed alien life forms wrestling around in the dirt with two humans.

I gotta tell you. I'm super happy both officers showed restraint.

Shelby Lynn had removed her mask first, giving the shaken deputy and reserve her assurances that behind the other five masks were living, breathing women of the human species. One by one, we'd unmasked. I blinked when I realized my best bud, Kari, had been the one to broadside Martina with such force an offensive lineman trying to pick off a blitzing defender would be impressed.

"How did you know to come here?" Shelby asked Carruthers. "We tried, but couldn't get a signal."

"Dusty Cadwallader called to report lights and noises in the woods," she said.

"And you came?" I asked, finally getting off of Cissy.

"Cadwallader was pretty insistent. He'd limped to his truck and driven down the road to call. Plus I figured with what happened to him, I'd better check it out."

"You are officially my second favorite police officer!" I said.

She gave me a funny look.

"She wanted to kill me!" Cissy said, sobbing and pointing at her crumpled cheerleading coach. "She wanted me dead!"

"Fortunately for you, your friend, Jada, led us here or she might've been successful."

"It was that light. I saw that light," Cissy said.

"Light?" Carruthers asked.

"The light in the sky. I looked up to see what it was and that's when Martina attacked me."

Deputy Carruthers looked at the women in black.

"Any of you see this strange light?"

I looked at the others.

"I might've caught a flash of something," I said.

"Could it have been a spotlight?" Carruthers asked.

I shook my head.

"Yes."

"Huh?"

I nodded this time.

"No."

The deputy gave me a wary look, ordered the reserve to see to Cissy and went over to check out the schoolteacher who'd hopefully just learned her lesson—albeit the hard way.

"Wow, Kari! I didn't know you had it in you," I said. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"You mess with your students. You're going down," she said, dusting gravel and dirt off her sleeve.

Amen.

We ended up at the county courthouse where we gave our statements to Deputy Carruthers and Acting Sheriff Doug Samuels.

"We dragged all the cheerleaders in, and they've admitted to the vandalism and thefts and the break-ins," Samuels said.

"How come they didn't follow through with the museum job?" I asked.

"They basically chickened out. It was overkill. Several of the girls have grandparents who are members of the historical society, and the girls decided to bail. They still can't seem to wrap their heads around the fact that their beloved teacher orchestrated it all, setting the wheels in motion just to write a paper."

"Set those girls up is more like it," Taylor said. "They didn't know what hit them. And all for academic credit."

I shook my head. "I always knew too much studying could be harmful to one's psyche."

Taylor gave me a disgusted look.

"There's obviously some deeper issue going on with Martina that contributed to her obsession with her thesis research to the point that she would use her students like laboratory specimens. When she lost control of her creation, she couldn't risk anyone finding out she was behind it all, so she kept silent. And kept collating."

"She'll have plenty of time to collate where she's going," I said.

"Which will probably be some sort of mental facility," Deputy Carruthers said. "She's still back in the holding cell babbling about inherent risks and unbreakable bonds, and some guy named Maslow."

"I hope you have her on suicide watch," Taylor said.

Samuels nodded.

"So Mick Dishman really didn't have anything to do with any of this other than purchasing alcohol underage and doing a little cleanup for his girlfriend, and he's copped to all that."

"What I'm not totally clear on is why you arrested Robbie Rodgers? What did he do?"

"He tie-dyed your horse, that's what, Turner."

I looked up. Stan Rodgers, looking like I felt, stood in the doorway.

"What?"

"Einstein and his buddy knew that their girlfriends were involved in the vandalism to some extent, and they decided to help them out by giving them alibis rather than giving them up to the cops. They did the number on your folks' house and your animal."

I blinked. I sure didn't see that one coming.

"We'll pay for the cleanup, of course," Stan said.

"And my car?" I asked, seeing an opportunity and taking it.

"We'll talk," he said.

I nodded.

Right.

As we got ready to leave, I stopped in front of the acting sheriff.

"You know. Things might have ended a whole lot worse had Deputy Carruthers not taken Dusty Cadwallader seriously," I told him. "She's the first person from your department to do so. And thanks to her, everything turned out. I hope you realize that,
Sheriff
."

It was the first time I'd called him sheriff and really meant it. Because the title, "sheriff," meant something. It meant trust—something I'd learned a lot about these past few days—and a commitment to service no matter if the ones you're serving might be a little bit 'out there.'

There's a new Sister Act in town, pilgrim
.

We looked at each other for a long moment before he nodded.

It was a start.

It was close to daylight when we finally left the courthouse, discovering husband, fiancé, and boyfriend of two months waiting outside.

Kari, I was cheered to see, was too exhausted to do much gloating, her observation that her husband should have picked up on his mentee's sick laboratory research met with a "Hey, what can I tell you? I'm a jock, not a shrink," defense along with Brian's assurance he had meant to report his concerns to the principal the very next day.

Sadly, it works.

"Look. There's Manny DeMarco," Taylor said, as we stopped by her car. "That's his cousin, Mick, right? Wow! Talk about family resemblance."

Ranger Rick Townsend's jaw clenched visibly. It's a Manny reaction.

"That's Mick," I confirmed and watched the two talk, thinking about what Taylor had said.

"We'll follow you home, and to make sure you don't fall asleep we'll keep our bright lights on the whole time," I told Taylor.

She shook her head.

"Thanks."

Townsend practically lifted me into the truck's cab.

I itched all the way home.

He got me in the house and ran a bath for me and helped me undress.

"You know you've got poison ivy, right?" he asked.

I winced.

My fears were confirmed.

Townsend smiled.

"Care for some company tonight?" he asked. "Tomorrow's Sunday. We can sleep in."

Simple and uncomplicated and easy.

And that's when it hit me. That's when I had my light bulb moment. Maybe one key to having a long and lasting relationship was not to overthink it.

Maybe simplicity was the key. Maybe it was
my
key.

I took his hand and led him to the bathroom.

"I may require oatmeal in my bath," I said.

"Martha Jane, is this your way of saying, 'If you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours'?" he asked.

I giggled and scratched and giggled some more.

Am I a sucker for a great-looking guy with a sense of humor and oh-so-clever tongue?

What can I say?

I'm a believer.

I stood at one of the food-laden tables and set down a big ol' platter of deviled eggs and scratched. Townsend's diagnosis was halfway correct. I did have a bad case of poison ivy. I also had chigger bites up the wazoo. Well, not really up it. Just in the groinal area. And around the waistband. And ankles.

I did the chigger cha-cha while I made my food game plan.

Potlucks.

What's not to love?

A hand reached around me and snitched a ham rollup.

"Eyeballing the goodies, I see," Joe Townsend remarked.

I nodded. The Turner-Blackford bunch always did put on a heck of a spread.

"I was hoping I'd run into you, Joe," I said. "A little matter of unfinished business. I held up my part of the bargain. I solved the gnome mystery. What about you? Those 'Mystery Manny' questions."

"Technically, you tripped over it. Hardly Holmes worthy. Besides, we would have found it the same night," Joe pointed out.

"But I found it first. Look, Joe, if it's too much for you—"

"I've got a few in the queue. You'll get your questions!" he barked and grabbed another rollup and stomped off.

"What's he all het up about?" I turned. My gammy, resplendent in a peach and white striped blouse, white capri pants, and a straw hat stood beside me.

"They got something for that, you know."

"For what?"

"That feminine itching. It's one of them over-the-counter jobs. You don't have to embarrass yourself by going to a doctor."

I shook my head.

"It's not—"

"It's too bad Eunice couldn't make it this year. It's not a reunion without Eunice."

I frowned. "The last time she came you told her if she showed up again, you'd take after her with a lawn dart."

"She knew I was jokin'. That's what sisters do," she said. "Like when you took after Craig with that Wiffle ball bat. And when you razz Taylor about being the queen of where fun goes to die."

"I was never more serious—"

She suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm.

"Look! Over there! Abigail's peri-more. What's Abigail's gigolo doing here?" she asked. "Did you invite him?"

"Me? No!"

I watched Uncle Bo, in his regular bum attire, smile and nod as he made his way in our direction.

"He's comin' over here!" Gram said, the hand on my arm latching on like eagle talons to prey.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" I asked, looking around for an escape route. "Trip him?"

"Would you?"

"No!"

Uncle Bo walked past us and made his way to the little stage in the corner of the shelter house where someone had set up a CD player that was playing oldies. Weird, I know, but it's kind of a tradition. We'd heard such sixties classics as
Build Me Up Buttercup, Suspicious Minds,
and
I Heard it Through the Grapevine.
Uncle Bo reached out and turned off the music—a mix of songs from the sixties.

"What's he think he's doin'?" Gram asked. "That was James Brown."

I made a face. After this, I suspected
Papa's Got a Brand New Bag
was going to take on a whole new meaning.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, family and friends," Uncle Bo took center stage. "I want to take this moment to say, I'm baack!"

With that, Uncle Bo ripped off his disguise—hat, wig, coat, shirt, pants, and last, but not least, mustache, and out stepped a smartly clad Aunt Eunice.

"Let's get this party started!" she yelled to the dumfounded onlookers.

She switched the music back on, and James Brown came back on singing about Papa's brand new bag.

Aunt Eunice, high-fiving and fist bumping, boogied her way over to where we stood, a regular
Mrs. Doubtfire
. Well, maybe not regular.

"I knew it was you all the time, Eunice," Gram said, her lips pursed.

"You did not!"

"I did, too!"

"Did not!"

"Did, too!"

I backed away, but not before sliding my food contribution closer to the feuding females.

"Did not!"

"Did, too"

I backed off.

An egg flew past.

And another one.

I pulled my phone out and hit the video button as James Brown ended and the sisters of soul, The Supremes, took over.

I looked over at Townsend deep in conversation with my brother and the chorus began.

Nope.

You can't hurry love.

But then again, maybe you can give it a good ol' girl's kick in the pants now and then.

Hmm. Wonder what Martha Jane would do?