Calamity Jayne and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Lawn Gnome (17 page)

"Pull it!" I told Taylor. "Pull on the end of the belt!"

She grabbed the buckle end of the belt and gave it a tug. The belt raced through the loops,

Taylor fell to the ground. I shot backwards, plowing into Shelby Lynn, sending her somersaulting over the back of the ATV. I landed on top of her, straddling her bass-ackwards.

"Great. Your butt's in my face again," she said.

"Look on the bright side," I said.

"Bright side?"

"We're off the ATV," I said.

Once we managed to get untangled—and Dusty had recovered sufficiently from the shock of the spectacle on display before him to perform his duties as guide—we made our way into the woods.

"Lions, tigers, and bears. Oh, my!" I whispered.

"Grow up!" Shelby said.

"Shh! Quiet!" Dusty scolded. "Listen!"

We stopped.

"I forget. What are we supposed to be listening for again?" Taylor asked.

"The Mother Ship is my bet," Shelby said.

"So what are we doing again?" Taylor asked.

"We're going to stake out the clearing initially to see if anyone comes back."

"This ought to be fun," Shelby said. "Anyone bring a blanket?"

We spaced ourselves at various intervals around the clearing. I placed my backpack on the ground and sat on it, gasping when I sat down on something rock hard.

I pulled the bag aside. The police scanner. I'd forgotten all about it.

I pulled out a bottle of water and took a long drink, grabbing an energy bar, opening it, and taking a big bite.

I listened to the sounds of the nightlife and stared up at the night sky through the trees. A clear night, the air was still warm from the heat of the day. I slapped at a mosquito buzzing at my left ear and took another long drink of water, slapping at yet another skeeter.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all.

I finished the bar, drained the bottle of water, and checked my watch.

I felt my eyes start to become heavy. I yawned.

 "I'm thirsty. I don't suppose anyone else had a chance to bring food or water," Shelby said.

"Sorry," I whispered, feeling ashamed that I hadn't offered to share. Still, I could hardly offer to share since I didn't have enough for everyone, right?

Half an hour later I was wishing I'd shared the bounty. I winced. My bladder felt like it was ready to explode.

My legs started doing the "gotta go, gotta go, gotta go, go, go" dance.

I can hold it. I can hold it.

I swayed back and forth, back and forth.

I can hold it.

I danced some more.

Not gonna happen.

Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go, go, go!

I shifted back and forth. Back and forth.

Gonna go, gonna go, gonna go, go, go.

I checked the area for a tree that provided ample…er, coverage finding one off to my left that served my purpose. I weighed the chances of discovery with the chances that I'd whiz myself and ultimately decided that the odds were one hundred percent that I'd embarrass myself if I didn't relieve myself. Bladder burning, I crept behind a tree doing a jig while I unzipped my pants, struggling to get my britches pulled down in time.

"Ooh. Ow. Ooh!"

"You hear that?" Dusty whispered.

"Sounds like it's coming from over by you, Tressa," Taylor said. "You see anything?"

"Me? No? No? Not a thing."

I took the opportunity to slide my pants down a bit. If I could inch them down a few more inches.

"Uw, ah!"

"There it is again. You sure you don't see anything, Tressa?"

"Yes!" I'd reached the crook of my knees. Good enough.

"Yes what? You see something?"

"Uh-huh," I said, squatting and letting it flow. "Ahhhh!"

"Tressa? Are you all right?"

"I'll check," Dusty said and before I could say "Don't look, Dusty!" he came crawling out of the bushes and hit me with his light.

"Holy crap!" he said, on the receiving end of an up close and personal view of my bum.

"No! No! There's no crap!" I assured him. "Just number one. No number two!"

"What's going on?" Taylor said. "Should I come over there?"

"No!" I said.

Dusty's head disappeared back into the bush, and I yanked my britches back up.

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," I said.

"Looks good," Dusty said.

He couldn't mean…my derriere!

"The clearing," Dusty said. "I think we're good."

I let out a relieved breath.

"Good might be a bit of a stretch," Shelby muttered.

We circled the clearing's perimeter from different directions.

"Clear!" I called out.

"Clear? Are you for real?" Shelby said.

Our modest unit met in the middle.

I looked around. The clearing was deserted.

"Uh, what were we supposed to see again?" Taylor asked. "Evidence, you said, right, because I'm not seeing anything."

She was right. There was nothing here to see. Nothing at all.

"You're sure you saw people here tonight?" I asked Dusty.

"Affirmative," he responded.

I frowned, shining my flashlight around the area.

"Well, they sure didn't leave anything behind this time," I said. I bent down, taking a closer look at ground that looked like it'd been raked clean, like they did baseball mounds.

"Well, this has been instructional," Taylor said, throwing my earlier words back at me.

Shelby sighed. "So it's not a total loss, can we at least see those pink tornadoes you've gone on and on about?"

I nodded.

"You definitely have to see those! Pictures don't do them justice. May I direct your attention to Exhibit T for tornado, twister, or tree," I said. I pointed my flashlight at one of the trees that had been tagged. "And voilà!"

"Voilà what? I don't see anything," Shelby said.

"Me either," Taylor added.

I followed the path of my beam and my braggadocio deflated like a balloon with a hole.

Nothing. No tornado—pink, purple, polka-dotted, or otherwise.

"What mischief is this?" I muttered.

"Good grief," Shelby said.

"Are you sure you have the right tree?" Taylor asked.

I checked the others. No pink paint.

"I don't get it," I said. "They were here earlier right, Dusty?"

"They've made the signs disappear!" Dusty said.

"They? They who?" Taylor asked.

"I'm not sure you want to know," Shelby muttered.

"The Visitors! The Worshippers! The coven or sect or whatever you want to call them. They've obliterated the signs to cover their tracks. Oh, they're good. They're good," Dusty said.

I stepped up to a tree I was certain had been spray-painted and rubbed the palm of my hand over the bark on the front of the trunk. It felt damp, wet, and cool to the touch. I took a fingernail and scratched at the bark.

"Wait a minute! Look at this! Someone's spread something on this tree! It's still wet!"

Taylor and Shelby flanked me. Taylor shone her flashlight on the tree.

"You're right. It looks like mud."

"And look down here!" I squatted at the base of the trees. "Look at all these slivers of tree bark."

Taylor joined me, picking up some of the slivers and rubbing it between her thumb and her finger.

"It looks like someone shaved off the bark and covered it with some kind of mud mixture," she said.

"I'll take your word for it," Shelby said. "If I knelt down to see, I'd never get back up."

"Somebody's covering tracks," I said, vindicated.

"Why? We have photographs. Why erase them? Why now?"

All reasonable questions. I wish I had answers, reasonable or otherwise.

"They'll be looking for a new place to meet," Dusty said.

"That's it then," I said, disappointed our plans to expose the culprits had fizzled. "I guess we can head for the barn."

We made our way back to the ATVs.

"Oh, God. I forgot about the return trip," Shelby said.

"I'll take it easy," I promised, hopping onto the ATV. I turned the key and pushed the start button.

Err, err, errrr.

I put it in neutral and tried again.

Errr, rr, r.

"Hey, Dusty. It won't start," I said.

"Way to point out the obvious," Shelby said.

Errr, rr, rrr.

I frowned.

"Is something wrong, Dusty?"

"That's funny. Mine won't start either."

"You've got to be kidding," Shelby said.

Dusty got off the off-road vehicle and fiddled around at the back of the vehicle. He tried again.

No luck.

"You ever have anything like this happen before?" I asked Dusty.

He shook his head.

"Never," he said, tilting his head back to look up at the sky.

"I guess we're afoot then," I said, getting an uneasy feeling as well that sent my own gaze skyward.

"Miss Obvious strikes again," Shelby snarked as we began our trek back to Dusty's place.

"They like to mess with electrical systems," Dusty told me, taking the lead.

"I've heard that," I said.

"It's well documented. Radios go off and on. Headlights flicker. Cars stall for no reason."

I cast my own wary eye overhead.

It was well after midnight when we got back to our vehicles. I thanked Dusty for his help, offering to return the next day to help him retrieve the four-wheelers.

He shook his head. "I'm thinking they'll both fire off right as rain tomorrow morning," he said.

"Well, that was fun," Shelby Lynn said.

"Sorry," I said. "I really thought we'd get some answers tonight."

She shrugged. "No biggie. 'Night, ladies," she said and headed to her car.

I started the Plymouth and pulled out ahead of her.

We'd only gone a mile when the car radio suddenly came on.

"Ride Captain Ride" blared from the speakers.

I stared at the dashboard.

"What the hell? That radio hasn't worked in ages," I said.

Taylor reached out and turned it off. The interior light came on.

"What is the deal?" I said. "That light hasn't worked in forever either!"

"A fuse issue maybe?" Taylor suggested.

"Search me," I said. I didn't know where the fuses were even located.

"Where are your dash lights?" Taylor asked, and I looked down.

"Where did they go?" The dash was dark.

What was going on?

I pulled the car off on a wide shoulder. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Shelby Lynn pull in behind.

"I don't suppose it would do any good to try the four-way flashers," Taylor said.

"You could try them," I said.

"You don't know where they are, do you?" she said, reaching over to point out a knob on the steering column.

I pulled it. Nothing.

"What's the problem?" Shelby Lynn appeared at Taylor's window.

"Looks like some kind of electrical problem," I said.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Would you be a dear and follow us into town?" I asked.

She sighed. "Fine," she said and returned to her car.

I turned the key to start the car.

Click click. Click click
.

I frowned and tried again.

Click click. Click click
.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" I smacked the dashboard with an open palm. The radio came back on.

David Bowie's "Space Oddity"
filled the car's interior.

"What on earth?" Taylor said.

I looked at her.

"Or…maybe
not
of this earth," I said.

"What are you saying?"

"You don't suppose…"

"Suppose what?"

"Dusty said
they
like to mess with electrical systems," I reminded her.

We sat for a second listening to poor Major Tom float about far above the world.

Something smacked the driver's window, and I screamed like a little girl.

"What are you doing?" Shelby Lynn yelled over the music.

"Hitching a ride," I said. I stuck my thumb out the window. "Going our way?"

I grabbed my goodies and jumped in the backseat of Shelby's vehicle, an older model Jeep Cherokee. Did everyone have a better ride than me?

"So, look at us! Three contemporary women fighting for truth, justice, and the American way! One kick-ass crime fighting team." I lifted a fist. "Girl power!"

"Oh, yeah.
Charlie's Angels
should be feeling really insecure right about now," Shelby said. "You do realize we just spent hours crawling around in the woods with a guy referred to locally as
My Favorite Martian
, exposing ourselves to ticks, mosquitoes, and any number of noxious weeds, and basically accomplished nothing?"

I frowned.

"I wouldn't say we accomplished nothing," I said. "We've established that the pink graffiti artists met in Dusty's woods and are now trying to cover their tracks. That's not nothing." I'd also established the possible identity of one of the artists but wanted to keep that information under my hat until I had more in the way of corroborating evidence.

"I suppose," Shelby Lynn said. "Where are we on the gnome angle?"

"Gnome angle?" Taylor turned in her seat to look at me. "What is she talking about? Not Abigail Winegardner's gnome."

I frowned.

"You know about the gnome?"

"Excuse me. We share the same grandmother. Of course, I know about the gnome. Abigail thinks Gram took it. She says she didn't. Are you actually investigating a gnome disappearance?"

"Well, actually we're investigating its appearance," Shelby Lynn said, and I wrinkled my face up in an "Oh, God, no! Don't tell Taylor!" face.

"I don't understand," Taylor said.

"That's okay, Taylor," I spoke up. "Sometimes the nuances of a complex journalistic investigation are difficult for lay people to grasp."

"Oh for crying out loud!" Taylor said. "It's obvious you believe Abigail's gnome was taken by the same people who have been committing the acts of vandalism. I'd just like to know how you came to that conclusion."