Hot Enough to Kill (28 page)
She was right. I did have fond memories of that place. The little rectangular box of a house on a knob hill overlooking the reddish-brown lake wasn't much more than one big room, but it had seemed quite grand to me back then.
I could still see the place clearly, the ancient faded pink sofa with scratchy nubbed fabric, the old dining table with a red checkered plastic cover, and a black and white console TV with rabbit ears that couldn't catch a signal from across the room, much less anywhere else. But that was thirty years ago. I suspected the vision would be slightly deteriorated from that and accented with and lots and lots of dirt and cobwebs, all aptly accompanied by an old dusty, musty smell. And let's not forget the outhouse. It was there for a reason.
Yes, my happy little jaunt down memory lane had ended up in the toilet--literally--the kind without running water. The cabin had sat unused for at least twenty years and was probably falling down around itself by now, but it was probably the last place anyone would think to look for us. If I didn't know she had the cabin, I doubted anyone else did either.
I was not atwitter with excitement at the prospect of walking into the old place, however. Fond memories were one thing. Spending the night or the week in a run-down shack with all manner of vermin and no running water was quite another. I think I preferred to remember things as they were. But then, what were the options, really?
Making the appropriate twists and turns, we made it to the lake in less than twenty minutes. My fast-forwarded visions of the present-day cabin had become clearer and creepier the closer we got. I was not enthusiastic about trudging into twenty years of dust and disintegration. The thought was enough to choke a dust bunny. Maybe I'd just sleep out by a mesquite tree, or down at the crappie house.
We were almost to the little dirt road that wound around the east side of the lake. "Is there still a little store and bait shop on the corner up here?"
Lucille nodded. "Yes, I believe so."
"You know the people who run it?" I caught myself. "Better yet, do you think they'd know you?"
Lucille sighed. "Not everybody in the entire county knows me, Jolene. I'm not quite that popular."
"Well, I'm stopping there to get a few things. We can't just go out to the cabin to hide without food and water."
Within a minute, I saw the sign, not a neon variety, but a painted one with a bulb shining over the top. The paint had flaked off in a number of spots but I could still read Bud's Beer and Bait Shop. "Says they're open until ten." It didn't give us long to shop, but I wasn't complaining. In fact, I was starving.
I parked and Lucille wisely stayed in the car, just in case someone recognized her. I didn't bother mentioning that the Colorado plates made it hard to be incognito--even if you didn't account for my accent and my attitude. The attitude you know about; the accent is a bit of enigma. Here, my voice gets me pegged as an outsider to be wary of; in Colorado, it labels me a Texan in a heartbeat--and you don't want to know what that means. Either way, I'm in trouble. I'd just have to do my best though. I'd rein in the attitude, try to go native and hope like hell nobody looked outside at the plates on the car.
I walked in as Texan-like as I could and said howdy to a burly bald guy that I suspected was Bud.
"What can I do for you, darlin'?"
Darlin'? My skin crawled right up off the bone, but I swallowed down the sarcastic comebacks flowing freely to my tongue and said, as darlin'-like as I could manage, "So, how was the fishing today?"
It wasn't the question he'd expected and he chuckled as if humoring a three-year-old, a moron or a woman. "Oh, fishing's pretty good." He chuckled again, a very wise and knowing cackle. "Sunfish are hitting on top pretty good."
Six-inch sunfish had been quite thrilling when I was four, but I wasn't four anymore, and I wasn't really interested in fishing either. Was I? "I was thinking more along the lines of crappie, bass, catfish."
He shrugged. "Pulling in some nice cats on trot lines. You and the mister going out tonight?"
Ah, of course, I'd have to have a husband, now, wouldn't I? I certainly wouldn't be chugging around on the big old scary lake all by my little old female self, much less baiting out a big old, heavy trot line. I did not humor him with an answer as to my marital status, but acting like I was going fishing was turning out to be a pretty darned good idea.
"I'll take two dozen minnows," I said confidently. I'd free the little fish once I got to the cabin, although my daddy said minnows were trash fish and not to be worried over. I worried anyway. "Tell you what," I said, just as Bud lumbered into the next room to dip his net into a big metal tank. "I'll just grab a couple boxes of worms instead." Worms didn't weigh on my conscience nearly as much as little fish. Of course, I fully intended to kill and eat whatever I caught, meaning big fish, so the whole thing was kind of ridiculous anyway.
Despite his inherent chauvinism--and my reneging on the minnows--Bud seemed nice enough, watching me with both a brown and a blue eye. He started getting extra friendly as my non-fishing selections began to stack up by the register, these items being marked about triple what they were worth. Bud was going to have a banner sales day.
I bought the best of what was to be had in the food section, if indeed bean dip and spray cheese are considered food items. I also nabbed two jugs of water, the appropriate soda essentials, and a six pack of beer, bottles, thankfully.
Keeping my head amidst all the manly gear and the gleeful Bud, I also bought the necessary toiletries, toilet paper, paper towels, a can of Lysol, and some heavy duty bug killer. Deciding one can of instant insect death might not be quite enough, I grabbed another can that emphasized its lethal nature to eight-legged creatures. I was racking my brain for what else we might need for our little excursion when a dusty green Coleman lantern caught my eye. I moved my gaze to the hand-written price tag of fifty-three bucks and tried not to choke. Twenty dollars at Wal-Mart, easy.
"That there has an automatic lighter," Bud called from behind the counter. "Only way to go,"
I smiled. "Sounds great. I'll take it. It'll be good to have...out on the lake...at night...while we're fishing."
Before I was possessed to buy some other outrageously overpriced thing, I lit up Bud's life with a respectable 96-dollar sale. He grinned wide enough that I could see all six of his teeth. For that, we could have had a decent hotel room and a really nice meal. I tried not to dwell on it though, because truly, I was just having the time of my life--or at least I was still alive at this time.
It was pitch dark by the time we snaked our way down the narrow dirt roads to the cabin. Pointing the headlights toward the door, I grabbed my sacks of essentials and followed Mother inside.
To my surprise, she flipped on the light switch, and I saw fifty-three dollars go up in smoke. Not only was there electricity to the place, but the mice hadn't chewed through the ancient wires and the place was brightly lit. While I marveled in half-shock at having power and light, Mother moved from in front of me, and what I saw then sent me into sputtering spasms.
The place was spotless--and totally refurbished. Very recently. It smelled of fresh paint, new carpet and duplicity. Lucille had really pulled one over on me this time. I stumbled to the dining area and set the bags down on a new glass-top dining table next to an expensive-looking vase with silk flowers. Through a newly installed door, I saw another little modification that could only be an added-on bedroom. After processing that development and gawking for a good three minutes, I turned toward my mother and asked the very most important thing on my mind, "Does this love nest of yours have a bathroom?"
Lucille huffed and opened what had been a closet door. "If you must know, BigJohn had it put in. I'd always wanted a real bathroom out here and I finally got one. It's no big deal."
The hell it wasn't. This remodel had to have cost twenty grand if it cost a dime. "When was this done?"
Lucille turned on the new refrigerated air-conditioning units sticking out of two windows then put the drinks and perishable food items in the new refrigerator. "A couple of months ago, I suppose. We hadn't been going together very long when we drove out here. Next thing I knew he had the whole thing redone and new furniture delivered. He did care for me, you know."
Whatever BigJohn's reasons for turning the spider-infested old place into a cozy little hideaway, I was deeply appreciative, at least at the moment. "You could have told me," I said, vacillating between being annoyed and hurt. "I spent at least sixty bucks on junk we don't need."
Lucille shrugged and stashed the insecticides in a cabinet. "Oh, no, it's just fine. I didn't have any bug sprays out here at all. And it's always good to have a back-up lantern around."
I was not terribly proud to have been of assistance. Who was this woman, anyway? She looked like my mother, she talked like my mother, but this woman had a secret life that I knew absolutely nothing about. I felt like I'd come in during the middle of a bizarre movie, one that you had to see the beginning to understand. Then again, even if I had seen the opening credits, I doubted I'd ever understand how my very own mother had wound up with a laser-sighted Glock in her handbag and a love nest at the lake. "I'm going to bed," I said, my hunger having evaporated into some form of shock.
"Well, Jolene, I'm just about to faint from hunger and you did buy all that food. Besides, it'll be time for the news in just a few minutes. You don't mind if I turn on the TV, do you?"
Yes, I did mind. I minded a lot of other things, none of which made any difference to a single living soul that I could tell. I minded having to race down to Texas to get my mother out of jail. I minded having my mother and her house being shot up. I minded my dear friend nearly getting killed--and now stolen. I minded being shot at myself, and I also minded my mother shooting at the sheriff. "Yes, I do mind, Mother. I think we have enough bad stuff of our own to deal with that we don't need to hear about everybody else's. I don't want to watch or listen to the news."
"Well, now, Jolene, I suspect we are the news," she said, rather snottily. "And I'd like to see just what tales are being told about us right now."
"Oh, that," I said, sheepishly. I just hate it when my mind spirals downward like a really good flush on an old-fashioned five-gallon toilet. "You're right. Turn it on. We need to know what they've said about us so we know what to do."
"That was my thought, yes," Lucille said. "I'll fix us a snack, too."
With instructions to yell if our would-be mug shots had made it to the silver screen, I investigated the new bathroom in the closet, intending to avail myself of each and every one of the fixtures, especially the shower. I have to admit that whoever BigJohn had do the work did a first-class job. The sink was one of those little triangular in-the-corner types--tasteful quality though, not cheap. The shower was small, but nicely tiled rather than a plastic insert. I was impressed.
I was just finishing up my nice, hot shower when Mother banged on the door.
"Jolene!"
I grabbed a towel and raced out to see just how bad the story being broadcast across the county was, more specifically if the phrase "armed and dangerous" was used in the description of the mother-daughter menace running amok.
"Dee-Wayne's not dead! Can you believe that? That idiot Leroy, or Larry, whichever fool Harper went in the house, didn't even bother to check to see if he was breathing. It seems that the board Dee-Wayne looped the rope over broke, but not before he passed out. With all that fat around his neck, sounds like he wasn't even hurt."
I'd left the scene before competent law enforcement or medical personnel arrived to assess the situation, so I hadn't actually witnessed the removal of the body. But I had seen the ambulance drive up, so they were likely the first to figure things out. I also suspected Deputy Bob had arrived fairly quickly to take over for Larry & Moe, or Curly or whatever.
I'll admit I felt a huge relief that Dewayne was alive and well. Even though I didn't know the guy, and his self-destructive yearnings were not my personal issue, his self-demise would have weighed heavily on my conscience for the rest of my days. But Dewayne hadn't died, and the blame for screwing up the situation fell squarely on Harper shoulders, with a little help from Ethel Fossy.
I listened to the rest of the TV news story, which amounted to speculation and innuendo--an apparently contagious disease sweeping the media in the area. As the report wound down, I breathed a sigh of relief. We hadn't been mentioned at all.
While I was reveling in that small victory, one last detail caught my ear and sent a shiver up my back: Dewayne, the resurrected, had disappeared.
I slept reasonably well for a while, but by four a.m., I gave up all hope of ever going back to sleep and got up off the sofa. I dutifully folded the sheets and set them at the end of the couch, did what needed doing in the bathroom, then wandered into the kitchen area to see what sounded good for breakfast.
After a can of liquid tar and a Snickers--the breakfast of champions that had gotten me through college--I had a good hour or so before sunrise. Considering what difference that made provided about a fifteen-second distraction then I moved on. The new color TV--with its roof-mounted antenna--was ready and willing, but television was never my first choice in alleviating boredom. I didn't have a book and I'd thumbed through Mother's magazines last night trying to nod off, so that didn't leave many options. Too bad I couldn't really go fishing.
Could I? Was Dad's pier and crappie house still down there?
I fired up my new prized lantern, grabbed my boxes of worms and an extra can of Dr Pepper then headed down the hill to the lake.
