Totally Buzzed (A Miller Sisters Mystery) (19 page)

Suddenly all hell broke loose. The gorilla by the door swung his gun up. I dropped him with a shot to the chest. Ian ducked as the second thug fired a round over his head. I feinted right and tripped over Mag, who was still lying on the floor. As I went down, I felt the air whoosh by my ear as a round missed me by a fraction of an inch. Lying on top of Mag, I grabbed her face and kissed her forehead before I reloaded.

"Thanks. Don't move!"

I heard Ian still firing on my left, so I crawled under the tables to the right to get a better angle. I saw stout legs with toes and knees still pointed in Ian's direction. I popped my head up to make sure Ian and I didn't create crossfire. Man Number Three moved and now stood less than three feet away from me, still firing in Ian's direction. I calmly leaned forward and very gently nudged my Smith against his head. His eyes grew wide and he held his arms away from his body. He held an automatic in his right hand. I sure hoped he understood English.

"Now stand there like a good boy and I won't have to blow your ass clear back to Mexico, pal. Now,
DROP THE GUN!
" He did without argument.

I heard a scream cut off and held my breath. A second later Ian's voice yelled, "I'm okay, Buzz. Number Two is down." Ian popped back up and trained his weapon on the guy I had. He changed out his clip and I heard the step-and-drag of his feet across the pea gravel on the floor.

My bad guy's eyes grew even larger as he looked for the others and realized he was now quite alone. I hummed softly, 'One is the loneliest number…' I stepped back out of striking range and gestured with my weapon. "Hands on your head and kneel, amigo."

He kept his beady eyes on mine, his hands slowly rose to the top of his head. I was just beginning to get that satisfied feeling in my gut that things were looking up when the asshole lunged for me.

In retrospect, I suppose he eyed up my grey hairs and my fluffy stature. Combine that with his macho arrogance, and it gave him the confidence he needed to get stupid. He lunged. I brought my other hand up. I barely had time to register the sound of a cantaloupe dropping on a hot sidewalk before I saw him pitch forward onto his stomach like he had been run over by a Mack truck.

I looked dumbly at my feet, which were now covered by a profusely bleeding head. I looked up and saw Mag holding a shovel, grinning like she just broke Barry Bond's home run record. I glanced to my left and saw Ian, both hands still on his weapon. It was pointed like mine was at the space where the big man on the floor had been standing. Ian and I both stared open mouthed at Mag. We both began yelling at once.

"I could have shot you, you stupid idiot!"

"You could have been killed!"

"I could have shot you and then Mom would have killed me anyway! Mag, you're fired. Again! For Good this time!" I stomped off a few feet, adrenalin pumping and breathing hard.

I barely heard Ian speaking quietly to Mag. When I turned back I heard him say, "And I agree with Buzz Mag, You're fired…but it was a really great shot."

Mag stood with her arms crossed, staring at the ceiling. She looked around the room. Dropping the shovel she was still holding, Mag turned and left the drug room. She sauntered past the plastic curtain into the greenhouse area. Ian and I were flummoxed. We looked at each other and looked back at the plastic curtain. We looked at each other again. Old 'Slugger' walked back into the room carrying baling twine in one hand and pruners in the other. She stopped in front of us, held up the twine, and snipped the pruners into the empty air. "Anyone care to tie him up? Since he's the only one you guys left alive, I think we should probably save him for J.J."

That galvanized us into action. Ian and I each grabbed a hand. Ian pulled out cuffs from somewhere and secured his hands. I shackled his legs with the baling twine rodeo style
–
three wraps and a knot. Mag calmly called J.J. on her cell phone. Only then did we turn toward whoever it was they had been torturing.

Ian rolled the body over. We all said, "Rob," as we recognized him under all the gore. Fighting the urge to gag, Mag once again pulled out her trusty cell phone and called 911 for an ambulance. I checked for a pulse and made sure he was breathing. Ian untied him and laid him flat. I checked for mortal wounds. Ian tried several times to get Rob to speak, but he drifted in and out of consciousness and did not say a word.

Mag kept watch on Rob's vitals. Ian and I sifted through the rubble, trying to make sense of the situation. I pulled out my cell phone and took pictures of both rooms and Rob.

Ian called his district office. He walked toward the front of the building, quietly arguing with someone on the phone.

Cars began to arrive on scene. Ian went out front to direct the emergency personnel back to the correct building. As more people arrived I slipped out the back door to check out the last building. Mag followed, told me this was the potting shed where Glenn cornered her. I thought fleetingly, "Where the hell is Glenn, anyway?"

The door was cracked and I opened it slowly. We peeked around the corner and groped for a light switch. The room illuminated and Mag said. "What's up with this? Holy shit, Buzz, we're not in Kansas anymore!"

Gone was the potting shed and in its place was a well appointed stable. Four stalls, rubber floors, cross ties, a tack room, a wash rack, and feed room. It was stocked and looked like it waited for guests.

"Mag, wasn't this the building we saw Rob leave and lock the last time we were here?"

She ran her hand over a stall door and nodded at me. "Sure was. Why on earth would they turn this into a horse barn when they have no horses? Where'd they get all the hay? They have no fields and someone in town would have mentioned the new barn and stocking it."

I continued down the aisle "You're right, unless they brought it in or bought it locally
–
" I stopped suddenly, a queasy feeling coming over me. Mag must have felt it too, because we looked at each other and began babbling.

"Oh crap." I said.

Mag looked over the hay. "You don't think…"

"Mom and Dad?"

"Who else?"

I stood looking inside the stall. "Why didn't they say something?"

"Dad was too concerned about his stupid truck getting dinged."

"Mom was too busy making damn brownies for Dead Butts."

We stopped. A look of horror crossed Mag's face as we came to the same conclusion. Mag spoke first.

"Aw, shit. Is that how Carole ended up under their house? Do you think she found out about the drug room? I'm thinking she wasn't at the farm to pick up hay. This is so confusing!"

"I know. This makes no sense. Come on, we have to get back to your house and regroup. Let's see if we can sneak out of here." I stopped again. "Oh, damn. What are we going to tell J.J.? Oh, man, I am in deep shit with J.J. I don't suppose he would overlook a couple of dead bodies and a break-in, would he?"

"Fat chance," Mag laughed without humor, "I don't think he likes us that well."

We found Ian where we left him, on the phone in front of the drug building. We hid out by the door and signaled that he come hither. He held up an index finger, signaling for us to wait. I turned, saw J.J. coming down the aisle like a steam engine, and elbowed Mag in the ribs. We slid out of sight behind the door before he could get hold of us, and ran around the front to grab Ian. We ended up dragging him through the potted plants, out the front gate and across the parking lot. He was still on the phone when we stuffed him into the back seat. I took off over the lawn because the driveway was clogged with vehicles. There was no way in hell I was waiting around for J.J. to realize we had skipped. I appeased my conscience by justifying that he had his plate full enough for now, and he knew where to find us. Oh, man, was there going to be hell to pay for this one!

16

The sun was sliding toward the western horizon when Alejandro found the Gamble Appaloosa Horse Farm. It looked to him as if someone had taken a small ranch and crunched it into a tiny area. The two-story house sat near the road, off to the left. What would have been the back yard and pastures were fenced enclosures looking more like dog runs than turn-out yards. A large parking area began about thirty feet east of the house where six or seven horse trailers were parked. Two large barns were situated end-to-end, each had to measure well over 100 feet in length. The back barn had an extension off to the side, which Alejandro figured was an indoor arena for winter riding. Other outbuildings lay to the east of the barns, with a gravel road cutting down the middle.

A thin, wiry man with black hair and a pocked face met Alejandro in the front parking area. He ignored Alejandro's greeting, acting as if he did not even hear him.

"So much for Midwestern hospitality," Alejandro sighed.

The little man silently directed Alejandro toward the road running down the east side of the barn. Alejandro drove until he found a gap between the barns where he was halted by another man.

Several stern-faced cowboys stood waiting. Alejandro raised a hand in greeting and only one responded with a curt nod. There was none of the joking, convivial atmosphere Alejandro was used to seeing when in the company of cowboys. The entire operation here made him nervous.

He wondered, momentarily, if he should just turn around and leave. He turned off the engine, but before he could exit the truck, they had the trailer doors open and were unloading the mares. No one spoke to him as they led the mares into the second barn. A lanky older cowboy came back out of the barn and told Alejandro he was to collect the papers for the mares.

"Sure," Alejandro said as he reached into the glove compartment for the sealed envelope he had been given in Mexico.

Thinking it was weird that no one asked where Dr. Huerta was, Alejandro closed up the empty trailer. He turned to ask one of the cowboys a question and found himself alone. He poked his head inside the back barn and noticed his four mares were still tied in the aisle. All the farm hands were gone. He thought how odd it was that after the long ride in the trailer the horses would be standing in an aisle rather than bedded down in stalls.

He stood alone next to his truck, hands on hips. He thought about the atypical behavior of the employees. The breeder had not come out to greet him. No one offered to show him around, something that happened on every horse farm no matter where you went. The older cowboy never opened the envelope to check the papers against the proper mare. The horses were still tied in the aisle. Were they staying or going? The peculiar goings-on since he arrived were sparking Alejandro's T.V. detective alter ego's imagination.

Alejandro drove around to the front parking area and backed the truck and trailer among the several other rigs in front of the barns. He needed to find a bathroom and get directions to White Bass Lake, in that order. He looked around inside the front barn for an office or a restroom. A burly looking fellow in a flannel shirt stepped in front of him and said, "Hey, Mex. You got no business here. Get the hell out."

Startled again at the harsh treatment, Alejandro stood staring at the man.

"I was looking for a restroom, sir. I just brought in those four…"

"They ain't your concern no more, Paco, and I don't give a shit if you piss yourself. Get out before I throw you out!"

Alejandro backed away from the man. He was about to turn when a commotion toward the back barn made both of them look. Alejandro caught a glimpse of one of his mares fighting against her halter, refusing to be loaded onto another trailer.

He turned around and headed out the front door before the rude man noticed that Alejandro saw the mare. He looked over his shoulder and saw the man hurry toward the other barn. Alejandro ducked behind the barn door and watched as all four mares were loaded into the trailer. He sagged against the barn door and scratched his head.