Drop Dead Divas (39 page)

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I shouted over the wind, then gagged when a bug took the scenic route over my teeth and tongue and down my throat. While I coughed and spluttered, Rayna braked at the stop sign on Highway 311.

“I was quite willing to keep our bargain, but Rob made the mistake of treating me like June Cleaver.” She shifted into first gear, and we rocketed away down the highway.

I knew what she meant. Some men still get that tinge of condescension in their tones when dealing with “the little lady.” It’s death to a rational conversation.

“I once put extra starch in Perry’s tighty-whiteys for using that tone with me,” I managed to yell without ingesting any more flying creatures. “He thought he’d broken something important the first time he sat down in them.”

Rayna laughed. Wind whipped some of her hair loose from the ponytail, and then we gathered up speed. Talking was impossible. I held on to the bar built into the Jeep for just that purpose, clenched my lips tightly together, and waited for my new straw hat to disintegrate. It shouldn’t take long, I thought.

Having lived in Holly Springs most of her life, Rayna knows all the back roads. I think the roads are really logging trails or dried up creek beds, but the Jeep took them all in stride. My insides were jolted about until I’m sure everything was upside down, but by the time Rayna braked to a halt and I recognized where we were, I forgot all about that.

“Is this where it’s hidden?” I whispered in the sudden silence that fell when she switched off the engine.

“So my snooping tells me. We’ll see.”

“But—this is the Madewell property.”

Rayna unfastened her seatbelt. “I know. We came up the back way. See that barn over there?”

I squinted. In the distance, squatting in front of the windbreak of trees I’d noticed on our previous visit, was an old barn. It was weathered gray and dilapidated. The cottages the Madewells rented were probably forty yards or so to one side of it, beyond a high hedge. Even from this angle, the landscaped grounds were very pretty. The grounds where the barn sat were not. Waist-high grass shifted slightly in a desultory breeze, and I was sure there were lots of stinging, biting things lying in wait for us.

“I didn’t wear boots,” I said. “I have on sandals.”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll walk ahead of you and make a path.”

It was very quiet, except for the distant drone of farm machinery, the buzz of bees, and birds rustling about in the bushes that marked the property line. That didn’t fool me at all. Snakes don’t make much noise. It’s their victims who holler.

“I don’t know,” I was still saying while she started across the hot gravel road. “I think maybe we should wait.”

Rayna stopped and turned to look at me. “Wait on what? Them to move the truck? Rob to get here? The police to show up? Come on, Trinket. All we’re going to do is see if it’s the truck that Bitty shot all to heck. If it is, I’m taking a picture of it, and we’ll go straight to the police station.”

“Promise?”

Rayna didn’t answer, just started off through the high brown weeds. I heard her mutter something like “Treat
me
like I’m dumb, will you, Robert Rainey, well, I’ll show you!” I could either follow or sit in the open Jeep. Winged things buzzed around me, occasionally landing on my arm or face. It didn’t take long for me to decide that sitting in the hot sun and slapping myself had lost all charm, and I got out of the Jeep.

The thing about meadows is they’re filled with all sorts of interesting species of insect, reptile, and grass. Some of the grass is quite sharp. I admit wild flowers, like Black-eyed Susans, Queen Anne’s Lace, and Indian Paintbrush, are nice. Not so nice are the thorns and nettles that freely mix with said flowers.

By the time I caught up with Rayna, I was bleeding, hot, sticky, and out of breath. My thin cotton blouse stuck to my back, my hair straggled in front of my eyes, and my new straw hat did little to keep the sun from broiling my brain. Also, I was pretty sure I’d seen a rat. I have a thing about rats. Recent close experience has not alleviated this flaw in my relationship with all God’s creatures.

“Shh,” said Rayna when I tripped over a hump of dirt and fell against her. “Just in case the barn isn’t empty.”

“Empty of what?” I whispered a little frantically. “Rats? Do you think there are rats in there?”

Rayna motioned me to silence. I grabbed hold of her shirttail. If there was to be a confrontation of the rodent kind, I had no scruples about immediate desertion, and she’d be an excellent rat-distraction. As the saying goes, I didn’t have to outrun a rat; I just had to outrun Rayna.

Right in front of the barn there was a clear patch of ground and what looked like tire tracks. Of course, the tracks could have been from any kind of vehicle, but they were pretty wide. A truck of some kind, surely. Tractor tires aren’t as wide. Unless you get up into the combine or picker range, and I doubted anyone would put such an expensive piece of equipment into this rickety old barn. It looked like it might just collapse into the weeds at any minute.

Some of the boards were missing in places, but the double doors were barred and latched. A huge padlock hung from a chain. I nudged Rayna.

“It’s locked.”

She turned to look at me. “You think?”

I decided it was just the heat and tension that made her cranky, so I nodded. “If we can’t get in—”

“What makes you think we can’t get in?” she interrupted.

“Uh, that lock?”

She pointed to missing boards. “You go that way around the barn, and I’ll go this way, and there’s probably enough space somewhere for one of us to get through.”

“If there’s a space big enough for
me
to get through, there’s a space big enough for something I don’t want to mess with to get through,” I said, but since I was talking to the empty spot where Rayna had been an instant before, I surrendered to the inevitable.

Of course, the weeds were really high right next to the barn, and I found myself taking giant steps just to navigate. Crickets wheezed lazily in the high grass. Carpenter bees droned above my head, drilling holes into the old wood for their high-rise dwellings. Mainly, I tried to focus on where my next step would put me.

Sandals are not meant for tramping through rough areas. Sticks slid between my toes, briars and burrs pricked my tender ankles and legs, and I was so busy watching for snake or rat holes that I forgot about other stuff and walked into a gigantic spiderweb. It was as big as one of those orb spiders that rival tarantulas, I swear it was. A bird could have been trapped in that thing.

Luckily, I remembered not to scream and just made some harsh, grunting sounds of panic. I stood still and panted like a dog for a moment. Sweat ran down my face, neck, and armpits. I could forget about going to dinner at Kit’s unless I ran myself through the local carwash first. I smelled like a goat.

So far, the only opening wider than the span of my hand had been above my head. Some windows near the top were open for ventilation, but most of the lower windows were boarded up. A huge hole near the footings held murky water, and in the shade of the wall, the mosquitoes rose in a swarm. I could actually hear them buzzing. I think they were talking about me, because a moment later, a squadron torpedoed me. I ran, swatting at the damn things with both hands and my hat. A few kamikaze insects dive-bombed me before I could get out into the sun again. Blood-sucking critters. Like vampires, the light of day burns them to a crisp. A hot day, anyway.

From my new vantage point, I saw an opening in the wall near the rear of the barn that just might accommodate someone my size. If I could get far enough inside to see if a black truck with chrome and bullet-holes was hidden there, our mission would be accomplished, and we could get out of this haven for all things that bite and sting.

It took a little huffing and puffing, but I squeezed my svelte, stinky body through broken boards and inside. Not much light illuminated the space, but as my eyes adjusted to the shadows—and I took off my sunglasses—I saw a banged up black truck sitting smack dab in the middle of the main barn area. The front bumper dangled, and several holes punched the windshield and hood.

At first, I was elated. Then, the cold realization struck me that Trina and Trisha Madewell, either both or singly, had killed Race Champion. And if the truck was theirs, as it must be, they’d also tried to kill Bitty, Rayna and me. That made me mad. What on earth was worth killing a human being over?

A sense of urgency rose up in me, drowning out my righteous rage. I had to find Rayna. Now that we knew where the truck was, we needed to get the hell out of Dodge. She could take her photo, and we would hightail it back to town.

Unhappily, I discovered that getting out between those loose boards was not as easy as getting in had been. Rusty nails stuck out at odd angles. I risked tetanus if I tried to leave that way. I turned around to study my surroundings. Slanted light came in from several places, so there had to be another way out. I hoped. Maybe Rayna had already gotten in, taken her picture, and waited outside for me.

Standing in dusty gloom that smelled like stale hay and dried manure, I debated  taking a chance of calling for her. Madewell Courts wasn’t that close, but if someone had noticed the Jeep, they might come looking to see who was nosing about. I hem-hawed around for several precious moments, then took a deep breath.

“Rayna,” I called as loudly as I dared. “Can you hear me?”

No answer. Nothing but the whine of insects and droning of carpenter bees filled the musty silence. I crept forward to see if there was another opening. If not, I would just have to squeeze back through the way I’d come, rusty nails and all.

Straw littered the hard packed dirt floor. It rustled under my feet, and a long stick of it stuck right between my toes. I muttered something profane and lifted my foot to get it out. That put me off-balance, and before I knew it I smacked hard against the dirt floor. Dust rose up in a cloud, straw chaff and god only knows what else, and I sneezed. Twice.

Then I had a coughing fit. I got to my knees and did my best to muffle it. I looked up and around, and since there was still no sign of Rayna, decided I’d have to go back out the way I’d gotten in. My options were rather limited.

Really,
I thought to myself as I trudged back through dried up cow patties and hay dust,
I do the stupidest things. Now I’ll have to go home and shower before I go to Kit’s for dinner, and then listen to Mama ask me a dozen questions about what we have planned for the evening
.

Whatever else I might have groused to myself about was cut short by my abrupt descent into some kind of trough dug into the ground. Once more I ate dirt and spit out stuff I didn’t want to think about. I sat up, swearing so badly that I figured I’d have to show up for the next Atonement Day at the United Methodist church.

When I heard a noise right behind me, I half-turned, afraid I might see a rat or worse. But I saw nothing but stars when something hit me hard in the head. It knocked me silly, and I went sprawling again. While I lay on my back looking up at the open beams of  rafters and trying to regain my bearings, I heard what sounded like hundreds of birds circling above me. Then there was a flash and sizzle.

My last thought for a while was that God had heard me swearing and hit me with a lightning bolt. Then oblivion.

CHAPTER 21

Sometimes it pays to listen in church. I woke up to total darkness and figured I had died and gone to hell. It was just a matter of time before I smelled brimstone and got poked with a pitchfork. I began to feel rather sorry for myself. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t
tried
to be good most of the time. Half of the time. Some of the time. I was just a weak sinner. Now I faced an eternity of fire, and worse—a family reunion.

“Be still,” a voice in the darkness said, and I sucked in hot air and dirt.

“Cousin Letty? Is that you?”

“No, you idiot. It’s me. Rayna.”

“Ohhh, I’m so sorry you’re dead, too.”

“What?”

“Aren’t we dead?”

“Not yet,” she retorted. “Be still. You’re just making it stuffier in here. We don’t want to run out of air before someone finds us.”

I ran all that through my thought processes, which were admittedly a bit slow. My head hurt, my eyes hurt, and I had a million bites that itched like crazy. Rayna must be wrong. We had to be in hell.

What she’d just said finally struck home.

“Air? Why would we run out of air?”

Rayna's hand closed on my arm, though she could have been going for my throat. It was really dark.

“We’re in some kind of storm cellar, I think.”

My life flashed before my eyes. Not again!

“Are there rats? I think I hear rats . . . did you hear that? It sounds like a rat. Did it squeak?”

Rayna made a sighing sound. “Get a grip, Trinket. As far as I know, there are no rats in here.”

“How do you know we’re in a cellar?”

“Because when you were dumped in on top of me, I caught a glimpse of light and rafters. We might be under the barn.”

A wave of panic swamped me. I began to shake uncontrollably. I babbled things in some unknown language. I gasped for air and clawed at the roof, and when I couldn’t find it in the dark, I smacked my hands against the sides of our cellar. They were damp.

Rayna grabbed me and shook me. “Trinket, snap out of it!”

It wasn’t until she held me tightly in a bear hug that I got calm. She began to say over and over again that she was so sorry she’d made me come with her, until finally I dredged up enough sense to say fairly articulately, “It’s okay, Rayna. Really.”

She made a sniffling sound. I squeezed her hands to let her know everything was all right now. I’d recovered somewhat.

Silence fell again, and I did my best not to think about rats, or cellars, or death. It would be too easy to lose my tenuous grip on control.

After a few minutes went by in which we were both lost in our own thoughts, she said quietly, “I know how difficult this must be for you, especially after . . . after last time. I am so sorry, Trinket.”