Sight Shot (Imogene Museum Mystery #3) (15 page)

I twisted the shovel and overturned a dirt scoop — just dirt. I jabbed the shovel deeper and gave it a good stomp. Grunting, I pried a large clod free. The dirt was hard packed — or was it? I knelt and brushed my gloved fingers over the clump and felt tight, intertwined nodules.

Corms
— loads and loads of crocus corms. The flowers had not been divided in a very long time, and they’d been reproducing until they were jammed together in bulging bundles.

Tuppence ambled up and poked her nose into the hole I
’d dug.

“
What do you think?”

She wagged and did a little digging of her own.

I’d sliced through several corms with the shovel, and they appeared to be moist and viable. I loosened a handful of whole corms, brushed them off and stuffed them in my pocket. If they were still healthy in spite of the overcrowding, there were probably enough corms here now to plant several acres when properly spaced. Fields full of purple blooms would be so pretty in the fall. Maybe Wade would let me have enough to line the access road to the museum. They’d provide a wonderful shot of unexpected and welcoming color.

Tuppence stiffened and let out a low growl.

She never growls.

I glanced over my shoulder and spotted a large Dodge pickup creeping along the rutted lane through the poplar stand.
“Wade’s back. I wonder if he got my message.”

Tuppence growled again, deeper.

I placed my hand on her shoulders where her short fur stood on end. She just stared into the trees. “Hey, it’s okay, girl.” I tried to hug her against my chest, but she resisted, standing rigid and focused with her tail straight down. “What’s wrong?”

Tuppence turned quickly and stuck her cold nose in my face, then dropped into a low crouch. Without really thinking about it, I hunkered down beside her. We
’d been in shadow for a while as the sun sank below westerly hills, and the demarcation line was almost to the close edge of the cabin. But the driveway was still in full sun, and Wade’s truck squealed to a stop in front of the cabin.

He swung out of the cab, then reached back in and pulled out two guns
— a shotgun and a hunting rifle. He dangled them carelessly by his side as he strode to the front door and kicked it open with a bang.

I jerked at the rough splintering noise, and Tuppence whined.

“Why doesn’t he use a key?” I muttered.

Tuppence wedged tight against my side, and I wrapped an arm around her.

“I’m going to look ridiculous when Wade finds out I’ve been digging in his crocus bed. I should stand up and walk toward his truck like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”

Tuppence whined.

“Yeah, you’re right. Maybe we can sneak out of here, not have to explain—”

Wade burst from the cabin and around to the back of his truck. Why was he in such a hurry?

I was struck again by how large he was — broad shoulders and big hands. I wondered if he’d played football in college too. He lifted a roll of what looked like wire and another gas tank out of the bed. He plunked the tank next to the front porch, then moved to a small window just above ground level and pried it open.

I hadn
’t noticed before, but the cabin must have a daylight basement, or at least a root cellar. Wade unwound about fifteen feet of wire and fed it into the open window, then he went back inside. He didn’t appear to be in the mood for socializing.

I scrambled to my feet and broke into a quick lope. I headed toward the convergence of the driveway and poplar stand. Tuppence tripped over my heels, then took the lead.

I saw the hole a fraction of a second too late. My left ankle rolled over with a crackling noise, and I went sprawling. My ankle immediately felt three times bigger, throbbing against the high cuff of my hiking boot, but I had to keep going — keep going.

Tuppence wheeled around as I lurched forward. She froze in her tracks and snarled, her velvety muzzle and lips curling back. A jolt of fear raced through my chest
— an irrational terror of my dog. But was it irrational?

Tuppence held her stiff stance, eyes tightened, head lowered. She wasn
’t staring at me.

I looked back only long enough to realize Wade stood on the front porch with a rifle raised
— aimed. He couldn’t recognize me, could he? Too far away and in shadow. Probably couldn’t even tell I was a woman at this distance.

My feet weren
’t waiting around to find out. Cross-country was our only chance. I dove into the poplar stand, scraping between trunks. There was a sharp crack, and a low branch to my right exploded in a poof of splinters.

My coat caught on something, and I yanked it free. I pushed my arms up, crossed like a shield in front of my face, and ran like I
’ve never run before. I stumbled and bounced off a trunk, scraping my wrist on the bark. The trees seemed to push me forward like the paddles of a pinball machine. My lungs were screaming.

Tuppence charged through the low weeds, her panting ragged and tongue lolling. She wound between the speckled white trunks, and I followed, stumbling blindly except for the guide of her white tail tip.

Something sharp sliced my forehead. “Ahhh.” I wiped blood out of my eye and staggered onto the dirt road near the Snead mailbox. I squinted up and saw that I’d run into the corner of a No Trespassing sign. I doubled over, wheezing, and tried to stop the blood flow with my sleeve.

Tuppence yipped. She was standing several yards down the road, watching me. She yipped again and took off, trotting toward the open gate to the rancher
’s field.

I swallowed, but my throat still burned. Oxygen
— I needed oxygen. I glanced back at the Snead driveway and caught movement — Wade. Snippets of his jacket and pumping arms flashed between the trees, and he was coming fast. All I could think was that he was certainly serious about the no trespassing thing — dead serious. I’d been so stupid.

I spun around, and Tuppence woofed as if to say
“hurry!” I flew toward her, skidded around the blackberry blind and yanked the truck door open. Tuppence catapulted onto the seat, and so did I. I fired up the engine, popped the handbrake with a lurch, and spun the tires, flinging dirt and grass.

I cringed, let off the gas a little, and the truck rocketed through the open gate and into the road. I leaned on the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding a permanent resting place in the opposite ditch.

A metallic thwang echoed through the truck. I cranked the wheel to straight and stomped on the accelerator.

Wade with his head cocked to the rifle
’s sight and a puff of smoke were the last things I saw in the rearview mirror before we fishtailed around the sharp corner and hit gravel.

CHAPTER
16

Tuppence yelped. I slammed on the brakes, and she slid off the seat onto the floor.

A stooped man stood in the middle of the road, and the truck shuddered to a stop, the grill just inches from his chest.

Amos’s face was white with rage. He smacked his open palm on the hood. Our dust cloud caught up with us and engulfed him.

I lifted my shaking hands off the steering wheel, covered my face and whimpered
— something unintelligible, I don’t even know what. My breath came in sharp, painful bursts, and my heart pounded in my ears.

The next thing I knew, Amos
’d wrenched the passenger door open. “What the—”

I turned to look at him. I wanted to apologize for nearly running him over, but speech just wasn
’t happening right now. My mouth hung open. My whole body was suddenly limp.

“
Meredith?” Amos took in my bloody face and Tuppence cowering on the floorboard. “Were you at the Snead place?”

I nodded feebly.

“Was that Wade shooting at you?”

I nodded again.

He shoved Tuppence over and leapt into the cab, slamming the door behind him. “Go!” He pointed. “Swing wide around my truck. Behind the house. Now.”

“
But—”

“
Don’t argue with me, woman. Do it!” Amos gave me a look that got my blood flowing again — fear, fury, determination? Whatever it was, he didn’t want us sticking around for another encounter with Wade.

I eased the truck forward and turned into Amos
’s driveway, picking up speed as we approached his pickup and cleared it. I plowed through what passed for his back yard — half-heartedly trimmed weeds — and jerked to a stop next to a concrete slab that led to a set of sliding glass doors. My pickup bounced on its shocks.

I sat there, concentrating on breathing, while I stared at Amos
’s dining table and chairs through the glass doors. He’d arranged a single place setting with cup, bowl and silverware. Tidy for a bachelor. Then I wondered if he’d always been a bachelor — maybe he was a widower.

Tuppence whined.

“She’s a good hound.” Amos scratched behind her ears. “Sorry about the shove, my dear.”

My mouth fell open again, for a completely different reason. I was still breathing hard.
“Why did you do that?”

“
Wade was not only shooting at you. He was chasing you. Right?”

I nodded.

“Anger management problems.” Amos snorted. “Best you get out of sight, not provoke him further.” He eyed me. “You need tending to. Come on.” He opened the door, jumped out and slapped his thigh. “Come, girl. You too. How ‘bout some chow?”

Tuppence followed on Amos
’s heels, tail swishing in a happy wag. He pulled open the sliding door, and she trotted straight inside. Amos stood, hand on hip, scowling at me through the windshield. It took a second to realize he was waiting for me to accept his hospitality.

I was still trying to make sense of it all. I opened my door and slid out, landing on my tender ankle with an involuntary cry. I bit my lip and scrunched my eyes shut. I
’d forgotten, and the adrenaline was ebbing away, no longer masking the pain.

Amos was beside me in a few short strides. He grabbed my elbow.
“Buck up.” He helped me hobble into his dining room, and I dropped into the closest chair.

He moved to the sink, soaked a paper towel, squeezed it tight and tossed it onto the table.
“There.”

I leaned over Amos
’s bowl of chili and snagged the wet wad. I shook the towel out and applied it to my forehead, scrubbing gently at the clotted blood.

Amos opened a can and spooned glops of a glistening brown substance into another bowl. He set the bowl on the floor, and Tuppence eagerly dove in.

“You’re not feeding my dog chili, are you?”

“
Hehehehe.” Amos wiped his hands on his pants. “This Wirt Maple’s dog?”

I almost dropped the paper towel.
“Yeah — I mean, she was.”

“
Recognized the markings and temperament. Had a pup from the same litter. Smart.”

“
Had?”

“
Went walkabout. Figure a cougar got her. Take your boot off.” Amos rummaged in the freezer.

I bent to untie my shoelaces, and my forehead throbbed. I groaned quietly.
“Do you have a dog now?”

“
Nope. Too close to dyin’. Don’t want to croak like Wirt did and leave a good dog fending for itself. It’d be too long before somebody’d notice.”

“
Wirt was noticed. That’s how I got Tuppence. Sheriff Marge took care of them both.”

“
Huh.” Amos plunked a plastic bag of ice cubes on the table and shoved it toward me. “Think he recognized you?”

“
Wade? I don’t know. Probably not, but there’s a chance he’ll connect me to Tuppence, if he saw her, or to my pickup. I’m pretty sure he got a very good look at the back of my truck.”

“
Lots of pickups in these parts. But yours is snazzier than most.” Amos moved across the small room and leaned against a china hutch. Teacups rattled as he rested a hip on the front ledge and pulled his knee up to let his foot swing free. “Yep. Maybe. Scoot over.” He flapped his hand in the direction he wanted me to shift.

“
What?” But I did as he said.

“
Keepin’ an eye out.” Amos tipped his head toward the front room and the large window that overlooked his driveway. “Best iffen you’re not visible.”

I pulled out a second chair and propped my left foot on it then balanced the ice bag on my swollen ankle. “Should I be worried?”

“
That boy is bad news. Always has been. Drove Spence to distraction.”

I picked at the corner of a laminated placemat depicting Sydney Harbor. “Meaning?”

“
Selfish. Pig-headed.”

“
I heard some of the same things about Spence and you.”

“
Hehehehe.” Amos tapped knobby knuckles on his knee. “We were cranky old coots, but not mean-spirited. In all my years dickering with Spence, he never posted No Trespassing signs. Nope. That was Wade’s doing. The first chance he got once the land was his.”

I shakily fingered the cut on my forehead. No fresh blood. No trespassing.
“Is he hiding something up there?”

“
Don’t expect he has anything worth hiding. You have a look around?”

I wrinkled my nose sheepishly.
“Yeah. I dug crocus bulbs — and left my shovel behind.”

Amos snorted.
“Craziest notion Spence ever had. No one wants to pluck little thread things out of every damn flower. Good grief.”

The gears of a large engine ground down, the roar punctuated by the rattle of spewing gravel as a vehicle skidded around the sharp corner. Amos tipped farther back and peered out the front window, then he dropped to the floor in a low squat with his head and neck stretched up like an eager buzzard
’s.

“
Yep. It’s Wade. Looks like he’s forgotten all about you. Not slowing one bit. Huh.” Amos pushed on his knees and creaked to a standing position. He walked into the front room and craned his neck at the edge of the window to follow Wade’s truck downhill. “Like a bat out of hell.”

I limped into the front room and stood beside him at the window.

“You can leave now.”

I smiled wryly. I can take a hint.
“Thanks for your help. I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

Tuppence scrabbled on the kitchen linoleum and yipped.

“Wha—” Amos’s words were cut off by an explosion that shook his house on its foundation.