Calamity Jayne and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Lawn Gnome (16 page)

"Hello?" I whispered into the phone, garnering nasty looks from moviegoers. "Yes. Yes. This is Tressa Turner. Dusty? Dusty is that you? You what? When? Where? Yes. Yes. I'll be right there."

I pocketed my phone.

"I'm not going to like what's coming next, am I?" Townsend whispered.

"Duty calls," I said.

"Can't it wait?"

"Can poachers wait?"

"Shhh! Quiet!"

"Maybe we should all leave," Townsend suggested.

"Shhh!" Gram said. "He's about to get his diagnosis."

"You go ahead and finish the movie," I said. "I'll call you later."

"Aren't you forgetting something, T?" Townsend asked.

"What?"

"Transportation. We drove my truck."

Crap. He was right.

"I'll call Shelby Lynn to pick me up."

"Tressa? This is getting to be a habit. A bad one," Townsend said.

"I know. I'm sorry. It's this story I'm working on. I got a tip. I'll stay if you want me to."

Even in the dark theater, I could tell Townsend was considering it. The seconds ticked off.

He finally sighed.

"Go on. Get out of here. I'll see the old folks home."

"What old folks? You talkin' about Abigail and her boy toy? You can't take them home. They'll know we've been tailing 'em," Gram said.

"Thanks, Mr. Ranger, Sir," I said. "I owe you."

"You have no idea. And one of these days, T, I'm calling in your marker."

I felt a shiver that had nothing to do with debt collecting or interest compounding and maneuvered past a line of legs, out into the aisle and out of the theater.

A minute later I had Shelby on the line. I told her about the call from Dusty.

"No can do," she said. "I'm on the other side of the county. Besides, I'm kind of jammed up right now."

I shook my head. "Jammed up?"

"I'm in the middle of something," she translated. "Can't you hitch a ride? I can meet you there."

I mentally ticked off the possible candidates in my head and sighed.

"Yeah. I can probably get a lift," I said.

I hit end and punched a couple numbers.

"Hello? Taylor? Are you familiar with
A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
?"

"This is great. Just great."

I looked over at my disgruntled passenger.

"What's the problem, sis?"

"You got me out here under false pretenses," Taylor accused.

I looked over at her.

"What do you mean, 'false pretenses'?"

"'Come pick me up, Taylor,' you said. 'Bring my car, Taylor, so you won't waste your gas,' you said."

"Yeah? So what?"

"At no time did you mention that you planned to drag me along on a trip to the outer limits—that's so what."

"Don't be a Grumble Gus, Taylor," I told her. "If my theory is right about the high school hooligans, this could be very instructive for a psych major."

Taylor crossed her arms. "Whose theory?"

"Okay, okay,
our
theory. And I didn't have time to take you all the way back home. But I did offer to give you my ticket to
Finishing Touches
, the tearful and poignant story of a dying young writer whose lover promises to finish his book until she realizes he's written it about another lover," I said.

"Hmm, let's see. I can crawl over irritated moviegoers to watch half a movie or accompany you to the boonies to investigate an eccentric's reports of lights in the woods. Wow. Stellar choices."

"Don't you mean
interstellar
?" I said with a snort. "I guess I could've called P.D. Dawkins to see if he was free." I looked over to gauge Taylor's reaction to my suggestion.

Patrick Dawkins is an officer with the State Patrol. I'd struck up a friendship with Patrick last summer at the state fair. I'd originally been drawn to Patrick because he liked me for who I was. That's extremely appealing to someone set in her ways—and refreshing for an individual who felt she didn't always come up to scratch.

Recently I'd discovered that Taylor wasn't exactly indifferent to the myriad charms of the handsome patrolman, and I'd been needling her ever since—in a big sisterly, all in good fun, sort of way.

"He's working tonight," Taylor said.

I blinked.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"From this." She held up the scanner my dad had given me.

"You were monitoring state radio frequencies?"

"Your radio doesn't work."

"Oh, right."

Taylor sniffed.

"I should've brought the Buick," she said. "When's the last time you cleaned your car out?"

"Everyone keeps telling me it's ready for the crusher so I figure why clean?" As if on cue, the Reliant coughed and sputtered.

"You could have a point," Taylor said.

I pulled into Dusty's driveway. Shelby Lynn was waiting with Dusty Cadwallader, dwarfing him by half a foot, easy.

"What took you so long?" she said. "Never mind. I see you brought the Plymouth."

I winced.

"So what's going on, Dusty. You mentioned something about weird noises and strange lights in the woods."

He nodded and took out a small writing pad.

"At 2030 hours I was out on the four-wheeler and saw lights in the distance."

"Over by the clearing?" I asked.

"Not initially. From the adjacent property."

"A farmer out in the field working, maybe?" Shelby Lynn said.

"At night and in August? There's not really that much to do in the field right now. Besides, most of my neighbor's property is timber like mine."

"And the noises?"

"Those came from the clearing."

"What did you hear?"

"Voices mainly," Dusty said. "I got off my four-wheeler and went in on foot, but I didn't want to get too close since there were three of them and only one of me."

"Them?"

"Three figures. They were dressed in black and had these hoods on. I really wanted to get closer, but I was afraid he'd hear me."

I looked at Dusty. "Wait a minute. He? One of them was a guy?"

"Definitely male. But what species?" He shrugged. "Who knows? It definitely had a deep, male-type voice."

"I thought you said we were looking at a group of girls," Shelby Lynn said.

I frowned. "I thought we were. Are they still back there, do you think, Dusty?" I asked.

He frowned. "Doubtful. It's been quiet since shortly after I called you. And I haven't seen any more lights."

"You said you saw them at eight thirty?"

He nodded. "I rarely get a cell signal out here, so I had to get in the truck and drive several miles to get out," Dusty said.

"So, what do you think? What's the plan?" Taylor asked.

"We go in," I said.

"Go in? The woods, you mean?"

I nodded.

"We check out the clearing, see if we find anything. And, if not, we wait."

"Wait? Wait for what?" Shelby asked.

"For
the return
, of course."

"Someone's still stuck in a Team Trekkie Time Warp, I see," Shelby Lynn remarked, a reference to my TribRide return experience that turned out to be one spaced-out space odyssey.

"I'm waiting for a plan," Taylor said. "Or maybe I better wait in the car. Your car, Shelby Lynn."

"Dusty?" I turned to the guy with the all-terrain transportation. "Can we risk using the four-wheelers?

"Four-wheelers?" I wasn't sure who said it first, Taylor or Shelby.

"Dusty has two ATVs he kindly permitted us to use earlier. What do you think, Dusty? It's getting dark. We'll have to use headlights, and they might hear us coming. Is it too risky?"

He rubbed his chin. "I figure like last time we're safe enough for the first couple miles," he said. "We'll need flashlights to see anyway. I assume you gals didn't bring any night vision glasses."

"Couple of miles? Night vision glasses. What the hell?" Shelby said.

"The plan?" Taylor reminded.

"We go in on the ATVs as far as we can, observe the clearing in question and if it's clear we go in and see if there are any clues regarding the identity of the trespassers. Once we evaluate anything of evidentiary value, we stake out the clearing in case our hooded hoodlums return and catch 'em in the act."

"Uh. What exactly do we do if we, as you say, catch them in the act?" Taylor asked.

"We call 9-1-1 of course," I said. "The cops come. They clap handcuffs on the perps. We've solved a mini crime spree, and it's Miller Time!"

 "You do know it's not going to work out that way, right?" Shelby Lynn said. "Not in a galaxy far, far away and not here in good ol' Knox County. You know that, right?"

"Shelby's right. What about the cell phone issue? If we need to call 9-1-1, one of us has to hoof it down the road."

"Good thing you're in great shape, Taylor," I said. "Besides. We're dealing with teenagers remember? What can happen?" I shrugged.

We gathered our items together.

"What about our munchies?" I asked Shelby.

"No time," she said.

I shrugged. I'd learned from past experience to keep a backpack with various tools of the trade. I had flashlights and batteries, a small first aid kit, bottled water, and some energy bars. I leaned into my car and saw the police scanner on the front seat. I grabbed it along with a set of ear buds. A good journalist always kept their finger on the pulse of the law enforcement community at all times.

By the time I got to the garage, Dusty had the four-wheelers ready to go.

"How are we going to do this exactly?" Taylor asked.

I loped to the nearest ATV and mounted.

"I've got operating experience," I pointed out.

Seeing the lay of the land, Shelby Lynn muscled her way past Taylor (not too difficult given her size and stature) and vaulted onto the seat behind me.

"Hey! Watch the shocks and suspension!" Dusty said. "Looks like you're with me, little lady," he told Taylor. "If I get goin' too fast, don't be afraid to reach out and hold on tight to my love handles."

The dark glare Taylor sent me before she stalked to Dusty's ATV warned of severe reprisals.

I sighed. Someday Taylor and I would have a close, trusting, loving relationship. I thought about the Blackford sisters, Hannah and Eunice.

Maybe I'd settle for mutually respectful and moderately understanding.

Two minutes into the ride, I found myself wishing Taylor was riding with me instead of Shelby Lynn. Every bump we hit, every time we came a skosh too close to the ATV ahead of us, Shelby put her mitt-sized hands around my waist and squeezed.

"Do you think you can manage to avoid at least one bump?" she grumbled in my ear. "This seat isn't big enough for you to channel Evel Knievel on an ATV."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I can't see that well. Besides, it's not every day I get the chance to four-wheel."

"I thought you said you drove one earlier."

"So I'm a bit of a daredevil. Who knew?"

"Most anyone who knows you, that's who."

"Exactly what do you expect to find out here anyway?
Teenagers from Outer Space?
Or a bunch of holes in the ground?" Shelby asked.

Funny girl.

"This is where the gang meets. We know that from the pink whirligigs. Maybe we'll get lucky—maybe we won't."

"And maybe we'll run into a tree, be thrown off, and break our necks."

"No worries, Shelby. With your center mass, you probably wouldn't get thrown far at all."

"Just be quiet and focus on your driving, would you?"

We retraced our earlier route, killing the lights when we got to the place we'd parked the first time around.

"What do we do now?" Shelby asked.

"You get off so I can," I told her.

I waited.

"So get off," I said.

"I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"It's my knees. They don't work so well. You'll have to get off first, so I can slide forward and roll off the side."

"How am I supposed to get off with you taking up all the room?"

"I don't know. Scoot forward over the front."

I attempted the maneuver but got trapped when my belt got hung up on a handlebar.

"Do you mind? Your butt is in my face."

"Sorry. I'm stuck."

"Stuck?"

"My belt buckle got hung up on the handlebar."

"You and your big, honking buckles," Shelby complained.

"Why don't you scoot backwards off the rear?" I suggested.

"I told you. My knees are wonky. They stiffen up sometimes."

"Stiffen up? Why didn't you tell me? I'd have brought along my oil can," I hissed.

"Like it's my fault I outgrew my joints. What about those thighs of yours?"

I stopped trying to extricate myself from the handlebars.

"What about my thighs?"

"They're taking up more than their share of room."

"Well, excuse me. You ride horses, you strengthen certain muscle groups."

"You should be able to open jars with those thighs."

"Why don't you brace yourself against me and push yourself up and back?"

"What do you propose I brace myself against? The only thing I can see is wall-to-wall Tressa Turner ass. And believe me, from where I sit, it's not a pretty sight."

"Is something wrong?" Dusty's whisper reached us about the same time as his flashlight beam did. "Oh, my God."

"What on earth?" Taylor said.

"We're just having a bit of difficulty dismounting," I explained. "We could use a hand over here. Taylor, a little assistance."

"What do you suggest?" she asked.

"A crane?"

"Oh, you're just a regular laugh riot," Shelby said. "Would you hurry up? There's a little pain involved."

Dusty hovered beyond the outer circle of light.

"I've never come across this problem before," he said.

"It's my belt. It's stuck on the handlebars."

"Did you try to take it off?" Taylor asked.

I blinked.

"Take it off?"

"Your belt. Did you try to unfasten it and slide it off?"

"Good grief," Shelby said.

I pushed my belt through the buckle, wiggled the buckle back and forth until the post slipped out.