Go, Ivy, Go! (30 page)

Grandma and I eyed each other.

“You’re the real Ivy Malone, aren’t you?” she said.

“The one who’s been dodging Braxtons for quite some time now,” I agreed.

“You killed my son!”

There didn’t seem any point in arguing that stubborn position at the moment. “Turn around,” I commanded. Her eyes squinted rebelliously, but she did it. “Now open that door right in front of you.”

The broom closet. It was already fairly full of brooms and mops and various cleaning supplies, but I shoved her inside with my free hand.

She yelped indignantly. “Hey, you can’t—”

Yes, I could. I closed the door, grabbed a kitchen chair and shoved it under the knob.

I wasn’t sure how long that would hold her, but hopefully long enough to do something about Sam. I looked frantically around the kitchen for something to tie him up with while he was still unconscious
, but the kitchen really wasn’t equipped for criminal apprehension.

I looked into the back yard. Sam was struggling to his knees. In another minute he’d be up and after me again. What to do? I could never bluff Sam with the gun.

I spotted Grandma’s makeshift weapon on the floor. It hadn’t worked for her, but maybe—

I swooped up the heavy frying pan and flew down the steps. Sam was on his knees, shaking his head now. I got around him and—

I stood there, pan raised high overhead. I groaned. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t just clobber a man while he was down and groggy. Not even Sam.

Another shake of head, then Sam lifted his eyes and saw me. His grogginess turned murderous. One arm snaked out and grabbed my ankle—

Yes, I could.

I closed my eyes and brought the frying pan down on his head. The blow stung my hands and vibrated up my arms. It did much worse to Sam.

I looked down at him, flat on the ground, out cold again. I thought he’d be out for a while, but just to be safe I ran back inside and yanked on the curtains at the kitchen windows. I tied his hands and feet with the kitchen curtain tiebacks.

Not a good day for Sam. Clobbered on the nose with a mannequin head. Vegetable medley in his hair. Hit with a shoe in that most sensitive area of male anatomy. Bashed with a frying pan. Hands and feet tied with ruffled curtain tiebacks, quite festive looking, although Sam probably wouldn’t agree. And his grandma barricaded in a broom closet.

I tallied the score:

LOL :
2

Braxtons: 0

Okay!

Then it was sirens and cop cars screeching to a stop outside the house.

Cops burst through the front door and into the kitchen, Officer DeLora leading the pack.

I was so glad and grateful to see them.
Thank you, Lord!

But I prudently took a moment to fumble inside the sweat pants and extract the gun before it went off or the cops decided I was carrying a concealed weapon, whichever came first.

Chapter Twenty-Six

A week later and I was on the road, Madison Street fifty miles behind me. Part of me as exhilarated as a girl on her first roller-coaster ride. Part of me as scared as that same girl walking alone in a dark alley at night.

Back there, Grandma and Sam were in custody. The photo in the newspaper showed him with a bandaged broken nose. Officer DeLora said I might need to return for one or more trials eventually, but it would be someone other than her notifying me. She’d already given notice that she was leaving the police department. With the satisfaction of a “case closed” success, she was happily moving
home to Texas to
a job cooking in an organic vegetarian restaurant, with plans to open one of her own in the future.
“Not everyone is cut out to be a cop,” she told me, and then added, “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Tasha and Eric . . . no, make that Tammy and Eric, because she’d decided to go back to her former name . . . were already moving into my old house. Their house now, of course.
They were willing to cancel our deal so I could stay in the house, but I’d kept ears attuned to
Go, Ivy, go,
and turned down the offer. Eric had sold The Purple Cow to a funky natural foods store, and it now sat outside their door with a bell and
a flower lei around its neck. Tammy’s bullet wound was healing nicely. I told her she had my personal Academy Award for an awesome acting performance impersonating me, plus a fine demonstration of shoe-throwing expertise. She’d just picked up a new acting job. Now, in more padding, frizzy wig and cosmetic pimples, she was going back to high school, because the psychologist wanted a first-hand study on how a nerdy girl was treated by her peers. She was also taking extra advantage of the situation by signing up for high-school computer classes.

I was concerned about Beth, so I’d called her mother, identified myself as the assistant of the writer working on the article about the Paso Fino horses, and asked about Beth. Mother said Beth would be living with her indefinitely now, but still working with the horses. Foreman Wayne was running the farm during what she euphemistically called a “transition period.” I hope none of this interfered with Beth’s hopes to be a vet.

And Lillian Hunnicut? No family had ever been located. Her remains would eventually be buried by the county. I vowed, when I returned to visit Harley and Colin’s graves, that I’d take flowers to Lillian too.

Fate of the houses and land owned by Radison Properties was up in the air, but they would probably be sold and the money used to repay investors the Braxtons had swindled in their buy-into-the-company-and-get-a-condo scheme.

Magnolia and Geoff were leaving for Texas in their motorhome in a couple of weeks, Magnolia’s faith in family restored. She was eager to meet the newest addition to her genealogical jungle, maybe a fifth cousin three times removed. Or a great-grandma’s cousin’s half-sister. I was never sure how Magnolia arrived at her classification of relatives, but she was delighted with this one. She’d never had a lady wrestler in the family before. She and Geoff intended to be in Texas in time to root for Tess the Red Tornado in some kind of championship match with the Bombshell Blonde.

Out here on the open road, I jumped between optimism that Mac would greet me with open arms, and pessimism that he’d run and hide in his son’s closet when I arrived.

Lord, are you sure about this
? I asked as I ate lunch in a little town in Kansas.

No answer thundered or even whispered in my head. Apparently the Lord had said all he intended to on this subject.

I drove on.

***

Heavily forested mountains surrounded Wolf Junction, with a bridge over a whitewater creek at the edge of town and a deer bounding across the road in front of the car. I asked at a gas station in the “downtown” area about Dan MacPherson. Sure, everybody knew Coach MacPherson. His house was right on the far edge of town, several acres surrounding a rustic log house set back from the road. When I pulled into the driveway, I decided the new-looking wing on the left side must be the addition Mac had come to help his son with. I didn’t see Mac’s motorhome, but it was probably parked out back.
If he didn’t come up with another proposal, maybe I’d just ask him to marry me!

I went to the door and rang the horseshoe-framed doorbell.

The guy who came to the door was taller than Mac, lean and sandy haired, wearing jeans and a carpenter’s apron full of tools.

“Are you Dan MacPherson . . . Mac’s son?”

“That’s me.” Friendly smile, even though he didn’t know if I was here offering termite inspection or selling bubble bath.
“Can I help you with something?”

“I’m looking for Mac?” It came out a question because, even though Dan’s smile was friendly, I was feeling more insecure by the moment.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Dad isn’t here now. He left just yesterday.”

I tried to hide my dismay. I fumbled for a response and finally said, “The work on the addition to the house is finished?”

“Well, not quite. A contractor had the log exterior done before Dad got here, and we’ve been working on the interior. The flooring isn’t quite done yet. But you know Dad.” Dan laughed. “He gets restless being in one place too long. I told him I could finish up here, so he took off.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. You know Dad,” he repeated. “He keeps in touch, but we never know where he’ll be when we hear from him next. He said something about some business he needed to take care of.”

“A magazine article?”

“Could be. He mentioned the Oregon coast a couple times. But then he also said something about Arizona.”

“I thought he was planning an article about mining and ghost prospectors while he was in Montana.”

“He worked on that some while he was here. But he was anxious to take off for somewhere. Are you Ivy?”

“Yes. Ivy Malone.”

“I’m really glad to meet you.” He gave me a sturdy handshake. Obviously he’d heard of me, but I dodged speculation about what he’d heard. The possibilities were too worrisome. Had Mac somehow sensed I was coming and disappeared into the wide open spaces of U.S. geography?

“Did Dad know you were coming?” Dan asked.

“Well, umm, no. I just . . . happened to be in the area and thought I’d stop in and—” Do what? All I could think of at the moment was, “Return a glove I found after he left.”

I doubted Dan bought my explanation about just happening to be in the area, but neither of us seemed to know what to say next. Apparently Mac hadn’t confided in his son about our parting of ways, but I figured Dan suspected something wasn’t right.

Finally he said, “That’s very thoughtful of you. I’m sure Dad wouldn’t have left if he’d known you were coming. With the glove.”

“Have you heard from him since he left?”

“No, but that’s not unusual.”

I backed away from the door. “Okay, well, thanks. Nice meeting you.”

“Hey, don’t rush off. I know Melanie would like to meet you, but she’s doing a clown act for a birthday party this afternoon. If you could stay and have dinner with us—?”

I’d rather like to meet a woman who doubled as a clown, but I didn’t want to have to talk about my relationship . . . or non-relationship . . . with Mac. “That’s very nice of you, but I’d better be on my way.”

“Look, why don’t you spend the night here? There’s plenty of room. Haven’t you and Dad been keeping in touch?”

“Not recently.”

“We’d really like you to stay. Some friends gave us a buffalo roast, and I’m supposed to put it in the oven—” He glanced at his watch. “Right about now. Ever eaten buffalo?
Really good. We’ll give Dad a call and find out where he is, and then—”

That suggestion alarmed me. I’d come this far, but I was not going to chase Mac down like some desperate bounty hunter.

“Thanks, but I should be going,” I said hastily. Dan looked as if he were trying to think of some stronger persuasion to get me to stay, but I dodged that by saying, “I want to make it to—” Mumble, mumble, because I couldn’t remember the name of any nearby town. “—by tonight.”

“I’m sure Dad will be sorry he missed you.”

I wasn’t so sure of that.

“Stop in again if you’re ever in the area. And stay longer.”

I drove away briskly, as if I had places to go and things to do, although I was really wondering
Now what?

I got back to what passed for “downtown” and pulled over at the gas station again to look at my map. The red line on it, guideline for my life, ended at Wolf Junction.

Any comments, Lord? This was all your idea, you know.

No comments.

I didn’t particularly want to drive forty-some miles to the next town on the map, a place called Double Wells, but neither did I want to stay in Wolf Junction for the night and risk running into Mac’s son again. The guy was so good-hearted I was afraid he might show up with clown reinforcements to persuade me to stay. And/or a plate of buffalo roast.

Actually, now that I took a better look at Wolf Junction, staying the night here didn’t seem to be a viable choice anyway. Not a motel in sight. Would Double Wells have one?

I guess I’d find out. If not, I’d sleep in the car. I’ve done it before. Though I had the Thunderbird back then, and it wasn’t loaded with most of my life’s possessions and a cat. But I’d manage.

I headed out to the highway. Tomorrow I’d have to decide where Koop and I were going after Double Wells. The world, I reminded myself, did not end at Wolf Junction even if the red line or my map ended there.

I could get along without Mac.

I’d just keep repeating that until it was true. Hopefully.

***

Double Wells was minimally larger than Wolf Junction. I spotted a combination post office, library, and sheriff’s office. And a motel. I asked if they’d accept Koop, and they would, so I registered for the night. By then the sun had gone down, and I went across the street for dinner at the Blue Sky café. They had buffalo on the menu. I’d never tried it, so I ordered a buffalo burger. It seemed like a good time to start getting used to new things in my life.

I took a bit of the tasty burger back to the motel for Koop. My cell phone rang while he was scarfing the meat down as if he had appetite enough for a whole buffalo. I looked at the little screen and recognized the familiar number. I don’t know what my reaction might have been, but Koop chose that moment to dig in the Styrofoam container looking for more buffalo and managed to dump the whole container. I leaped, trying to catch it before it hit the carpet, so I was a little breathless when I said, “Hi.”

“You okay?” Mac said.

“I’m fine. Koop’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. I’m fine too.”

I felt like remarking on our scintillating dialogue, but all I said was, “Good.”

A little silence until Mac finally said, “Dan called. He said you were there in Wolf Junction, but you didn’t stay. Something about a glove?”

“Yes. I, umm, found your glove in the driveway after you left. I thought I’d bring it to you.” Not an untruth. I did find his glove. I did have it with me. Though admittedly that left out a few details.