Calamity Jayne and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Lawn Gnome (27 page)

"The good news is it's not paint," he said, and I was at his side in a flash, reaching out to examine the strands of hair myself.

"Oh, my God! You're right." I ran a hand along his rump and rubbed the course strands of hair between my thumb and index finger. "It isn't paint. It's soft, not sticky."

"My guess is it's some kind of temporary hair color," Townsend suggested. "You know. Like kids use for Halloween or homecoming or just to be different."

My eyes narrowed.

Kids
. Like high school kids.

"What about the other two? Did they get…colorized?" Rick asked.

I shook my head.

"Joker was the only one they could catch," I said. "He doesn't know he's a horse. He thinks he's human. He trusts people. At least he used to. But after last summer and now this…"

I felt myself tearing up again, and Townsend reached out and took me in his arms.

"Joker's fine, T. A couple of good, soaking rains, and he'll be good as new." He stroked my hair, reassuring me.

I rested my head against his shoulder. It felt right to be there. Safe. Uncomplicated. Easy.

All the things a committed relationship wasn't. Or didn't appear to be.

Car doors slamming brought me up. I frowned. The folks were late getting home.

It was too late to bother them with this tonight, I told myself, figuring morning was soon enough to be the bearer of bad news.

Then, "Philip! The garage doors! Taylor's car!"

"What the devil?"

Or, maybe it couldn't wait.

We secured the stall doors and hurried next door. Dad's truck was sitting outside the double garage, engine running, bright-beamed headlights fully illuminated and pointing at the overhead doors.

The beer in my stomach rebelled. I felt sick.

Please tell me those weren't hot pink tornadoes on my folks' custom made overhead doors and Paw-Paw Will's Buick?

"Wow. They got you guys, too, I see," Townsend said.

"Too? What do you mean?" my mom asked.

Townsend told them about the barn and Joker's tail.

"Oh my. How awful!" my mother said, coming over to put an arm around my shoulder. "Is Joker okay?"

I nodded.

"He's fine." Apart from the obvious trauma of a mighty Appaloosa having to bear the indignity of hot pink spots and a hot pink tail.

I braved another look at Paw-Paw Will's car. There would be hell to pay when Taylor found out. Not to mention my gammy.

"Where
is
Taylor?" I asked. "How come she didn't hear anything?"

My parents exchanged a frantic look and bolted into the house, coming out a few minutes later.

"It's okay. I got ahold of Taylor on her cell," my mother said. "She's fine. A friend picked her up after the game, and they're hanging out."

"Friend? What friend?" I asked.

"I didn't think to ask, Tressa," my mother said. "I had other things on my mind." She shook her head and looked at the garage doors again. "Who would do something like this?"

 "Scumbags," my dad said. "Someone who doesn't have any respect for the property of others."

I had a pretty good inkling who was responsible.

I crossed my arms and looked at the long, tall tornadoes.

You want to play tag, scumbags?

Well, guess what? Now
I'm
it,
bitches
!

"Sorry, Taylor," I said again for the umpteenth time. "About the Buick." The Buick with the hot pink tornadoes that was our current mode of transportation—our options being limited as it were.

"It's not your fault…entirely," she responded. "But I do have to wonder how you keep making yourself a target for this kind of thing."

I shrugged.

"Bad luck? Misfortune? Negative karma?" I suggested.

She shook her head.

"Whatever you call, it zones in on you like a stray puppy looking for a forever home."

I nodded. I was a sucker for rescue pets, too. Okay. Most any pet. Well, except for fussy felines and anything that slithers.

"I gotta tell you. I thought you'd go ballistic when you found out about the car, but you're taking it surprisingly well." I looked over at her. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"How come you're so laissez-faire about this all of a sudden? The last time the car got trashed, you almost blew an internal organ."

"Laissez-faire? You sound like Joe Townsend. And as far as the car goes, I just choose not to let events I have no control over steal my joy."

I lifted an eyebrow.

"Steal your joy? Steal your joy? You've been reading self-help books again.
The

Twelve Step Program to Inner Peace
.
Thirty-Day Anxiety Cleanse
.
Working out the Worry.

And what do you mean by 'we have no control'? We have plenty of control!" I said. "We're on the offensive now. The ball's in our court, and I say we ram it down their throats. Figuratively, of course."

"I suppose you have a game plan that includes me," she said.

"Would I leave my little sis out?"

She shook her head.

"Care to share?"

"Certainly. If you'll share your whereabouts last night at approximately 2300 hours."

"What? You think I'm a suspect?"

"Heaven's no! I'm just nosy. Who was this mystery friend you were hanging out with? Emma? Heather? Jacinda? Toni? Felicia?" I named Taylor's high school friends. "Yvette? Pam? Faith?"

"Would you please stop? Tell me about this plan again."

Hold it. Miss Stick-in-the-Mud was actually asking for details of a plan
I
came up with? Never mind that I didn't actually have a plan. That she was diverting me from my line of inquiry had this reporter's "something's fishy" nose for news at bloodhound alert.

"Wait a minute!" I said. "Hold on. I know who you were with last night. P.D. Dawkins! Our very own studly state trooper, that's who!"

She kept her eyes on the road.

"It was nothing really. No big deal. Just a soda."

Just a soda? Just a soda!

Oh, my God! This was huge!

"Where did he take you? What did you say? What did he say? Did you exchange a good-night kiss?"

"Down, girl. We just hung out at the county park for awhile and talked. That's all. It wasn't a date or anything."

"You went back to the park?"

"He swung by home, and we got coffee and drank it at a table on the covered bridge."

"Oh."

"You sound disappointed," Taylor said.

"I'm not. I was just thinking how nice it would be if Craig and Kimmie and Kari and Brian would grab a cup of coffee and go somewhere nice and quiet away from everybody—somewhere like the park—and just talk to each other. You know. Put everything on the table and see what happens."

"That sounds simple enough in theory, Tressa. But it's not always as easy as sitting down over a cup of coffee and talking it out. Relationship issues are often time complicated and complex because people are complicated and complex. It usually takes more than a long talk to resolve those deep-seated issues. You're really worried aren't you?"

Yes, I was worried. Not only about my brother and his wife and my best friend and her new husband, but also about the implications for me. For
my
future. If they couldn't make it, what hope did I have?

"Do you think the deputy bought your version of events regarding last night?" Taylor asked, taking my mind off marriage crises and back where it belonged. On tracking down the culprits who thought it would be amusing to turn an Appaloosa Quarter into Rainbow Brite.

I winced when I recalled that conversation with law enforcement.

"
Who called to report a possible prowler at your home?"
the deputy asked.

"It was a source who asked to remain anonymous."

"And this anonymous source, what did they say exactly?"

"That they saw something at my residence."

"Something? Like what?"

"Just activity that I deemed suspicious,"
I evaded.

"What kind of suspicious activity exactly?"

"You know. Activity that didn't seem…kosher."

And so it went.

He zigged. I zagged. He served. I returned. He threw it out there. I tossed it back.

Ah, that heady dance of misdirection. I knew it so well I could perform it with my eyes closed.

Really? What did you think I was going to tell him? That I got a call from Uncle Bo, my cross-dressing, "homeless" aunt looking for a gnome?

Puhleaze.

"I doubt the deputy thought I was telling him everything. For sure his boss won't think so," I finally said.

"You do know this likely blows our theory about who is responsible," Taylor told me. "The cheerleaders have an alibi."

I winced. A spandex-tight one to be exact.

"Can you believe it? We're their alibis!" I said and shook my head.

"Along with video and hundreds of other people," Taylor pointed out.

"All except for one cheerleader," I said. "Jada Garcia wasn't there. She doesn't have an alibi. There's another thing that's bothering me about what happened last night." I said.

"Only one?"

"Well, apart from the obvious. How come they didn't tag
my
place?" I asked.

Taylor looked at me.

"They did. They got the barn. Your horse."

"The barn is adjacent to the folks' place. It was there before Gram's place went in."

"So?"

"So, if we go under the theory that this act of vandalism was to send a message to me, why didn't they trash my place? Why the folks'?"

"Because they thought you lived there, that's why."

I nodded.

"Exactly! And why would they think that?"

I could see Taylor trying to figure out what was going on in my mind—always a daunting task.

"Because they saw the Buick parked there," I finished. "Remember, you left much earlier than the rest of us. So that means…?" I waited for Taylor to make the connection—a rare experience indeed—so I savored it just a wee bit.

"That means they saw you at the park with the Buick and thought you were driving it," Taylor finally finished.

"Key-rect," I said. "In fact, I was standing at the trunk of the Buick when I handed the evidence over to Doug Samuels when the cheerleaders walked by and gave me their death glares."

"So, that could mean somebody or -bodies at the park relayed the vehicle information to their minions, and that's why they targeted Mom's and Dad's place and not yours!"

"Ding, ding, ding! We have winner!"

"Which means—" Taylor began.

"—It means our theory is still sound and the cheerleaders could still be involved. Especially when you consider that only one cheerleader—the one who just so happens to specialize in pink tornadoes—is the only one without a rock-solid alibi."

"So what's the plan again?" Taylor asked. "Divide and conquer? Or full-court press?"

I thought about it.

"A little bit of both," I said.

We walked into the school, and I frowned. It wasn't even seven thirty and already the courtyard and commons areas were filled with students.

"Why is everybody here so early?" I asked.

"Early? Classes start in forty minutes."

"Exactly."

"Oh, that's right. You preferred the 'I'm not officially tardy until the last bell rings' approach to attendance. Some students like to get here early and use the extra time to go over homework and get organized for the day."

I frowned. Maybe bringing Taylor along wasn't such a good idea.

"We better get our passes," Taylor said.

"Passes? Newsflash. We're not students!"

"I meant the visitor passes, Einstein," she said. "Remember?"

I grimaced. "Do we have to? We're not terrorists or criminals or anything. In fact, one could say we were here searching for lawbreakers. Besides, wouldn't a real bad guy up to no good simply wait outside until someone opens the door to go out and come in anyway? I don't think they'd bother going to the office for a visitor pass under those circumstances, do you?"

I could tell she was trying to find fault with my reasoning but was coming up empty.

"Still…"

"Honestly, Taylor. After last night, I'd rather say I'm sorry than ask permission."

"Where do we begin?"

"Do you see any of the cheerleaders?"

She shook her head.

"No. You?"

I shook my head. No cheerleaders. No Mick. No Principal Vernon. Thank heavens.

"What about the cheerleading coach?" Taylor asked.

"Martina Banfield?"

"Maybe they're hanging out in her room. I know I came early and hung out in the band room with Mr. Kunkel a lot of mornings."

I shook my head. Band geeks. I usually spent mornings before class in the office or making up work with the math teacher.

"It's worth a shot," I said and with the help of a student located Miss Banfield's classroom. The classroom door was closed.

"Should we knock?" Taylor asked.

"Knock? It's a public school. Why would we knock?"

"It's only polite."

I tapped my cheek.

"Let's see. My car was destroyed by roadkill. My horse has been turned into a merry-go-round horse. Our folks' custom garage doors look like child's play gone horribly wrong. Our poor Paw-Paw Will's prized LeSabre, which he entrusted to his beloved wife and who, in turn, entrusted it to her favorite grandchild, is now Shriner clown parade transportation. You still want to knock?"

"Let me at that door," she said, shouldering past me to grab the door handle and open the door.

"Excuse me? Can I help you?"

A few steps behind Taylor, I witnessed the exact moment Miss Banfield's helpful, welcoming smile, became one of outright annoyance.

Yep. It changed when she saw me. Imagine that.

"Hello again!" I breezed into the room with a bit of a swagger. Seven desks had been pulled into a circle, and all six cheerleaders, plus their coach filled the chairs. "I hope you're not all here serving morning detention." I said and noticed Jada Garcia was once again absent.