Magnolia Gods (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 2) (20 page)

“Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no, no, no.”

The radio stopped. Mike held the wheel with one hand and grabbed at switches on the dash. “Wipers. Wipers. Here they are,” he said.

“Hard to see,” she said, trying to reach out her window to clean the glass. The wipers started. Daylight came through the blotches. The car bumped hard again and the hood flew up and then back down, clanking.

“Can you see behind us?”

“Nothing. Only the damn corn plants,” shouted Robin.

The radio interrupted them with another blast of song.

“Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me, anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no, no, no, don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me, ‘til I come marching home.”

Then it squawked and was silent again.

“Better pray to those cornstalks. We need all the cover we can get.”

“Too many plants and this little car is too low to the ground.”

“Momentum, that’s all that will save us,” Mike yelled.

“This car isn’t going to take much more, Mike.”

He kept the wheels straight and the car crashed through corn stalks like a ship cutting across storm waves.

“If our luck just holds out a while longer,” he mumbled.

“What?” said Robin.

The car broke into the open and they were in a patch of tomato plants. The fruits hit the windshield like red grenades.

Mike smiled, “So I’m not as good a driver as you are a pilot.”

Robin grabbed the dash handle as the tiny car went into a four foot ditch. The glove compartment came open, and the blue and white owner’s manual, some dried out daisies and several registration papers whisked around the car. The left front wheel slapped loose a large flat piece of timber that had been half underwater in a large stream in the middle of the ditch. The old wood came up on the side of the car, spraying brown water across the windshield and through the side window vent, soaking Mike and Robin.

Robin turned to look back. “I see a stationwagon coming out of the cornfield.”

“Hold on again.”

Mike rammed the car into an enormous hedge of honeysuckle and vines and they were inside the pile of vines, green and dark away from the sunlight. Vines smacked the car in a succession of tiny blows in this strange grotto.

“Can’t see anything,” yelled Robin.

“If they slow down, they’ll get stuck. We just got to keep her heading straight ahead, got to keep the momentum,” shouted Mike over the screaming engine. The machine, its drive wheels turning rapidly in the air, arched across another ditch, this one wider. Its bumper and front wheels hit the mud on the other side. Water, earth and vines flew in all directions, and the steering wheel ripped from side to side, numbing Mike’s fingers. Mike fought the car’s turning sideways as the rear wheels tried to bite into the side of the ditch.

“Keep going, car.” Robin whispered, like a prayer, grabbing at the dash, fingers pushing at the metal, in a frenzy to help the vehicle with every bit of will power she could summon. Then the daylight returned as the car ripped clear of the vines. The car tore through a wooden fence, boards flying into the dirt road they had come upon. Mike steered hard against the skid while the car smashed against the dirt, dust mixing with the mud on the windshield as the old tires finally got a grip on the road.

Robin looked behind again. In the ditch she could see the tomato covered front grill of one of the chase cars, mud flying up from its whining rear wheels. Behind it the other machine was also bogged down. Men were climbing out of the vehicles, waving arms at Mike and Robin and rushing to push their cars free. One fired his machine gun upwards from the ditch. Mike saw bullets tear into the trees along the road. A large branch cracked loose and was falling into the center of the road behind the Volkswagen and thousands of fresh green leaves began to rain down.

“They made the mistake of slowing down,” said Mike. “They’ll be there in that mud for a few hours.”

In a few miles, he drove the Volkswagen away from the dirt road and into a two lane blacktop, pushing the heavily smoking engine as fast as he could. The car was beginning to shudder violently every hundred feet or so.

“Probably the whole front end is bent out of line,” said Mike.

“I think the radio is broken, Mike. Thank God I don’t have to listen to any of your music on top of everything else,” Robin smiled.

She looked at Loretta’s map. “Got a side road coming up where we turn for that inn.”

“A description will be out soon for this car. We have to get off the road.”

The sign said “Harmony House Inn.” At the end of a short road the inn sat behind a small parking lot with several cars already parked. All had out of state license plates. The Inn was a long row building with a screened porch running around the first floor and a series of garret windows on the roof. In the distance was the blue water of a river.

“Safe as anywhere, I guess,” said Mike.

“We have no choice.”

The engine had started to knock badly.

Mike found a logging trail and ran the car several hundred yards back into the woods.

“With luck, no one will find it for a while.”

When he turned off the motor, the woods around them were quiet. For the first time in hours engines were not roaring in their ears. Up in a tree in front of them a blue jay made the only sound.

“I could sleep for a week,” said Robin.

Mike pried open his badly dented driver’s door and inspected the car. Tomato stains were on the front hood. A piece of vine was still caught in the bumper

“It doesn’t look that bad.”

“Farm boy, I don’t care any more,” said Robin. “I’m ready for a bath.”

As they walked up the path to the inn’s screened porch, Mike heard a small radio. The broadcast was coming from a set on a wicker table on the porch. The announcer was reading a news report.

“Here’s an update on that search for the fugitive wanted for questioning in the beating deaths of the Philadelphia couple. His name is Mike Howard, described as a tall and well built white man, about forty years old. He is presumed armed and dangerous. He has a reputation of being deadly with his fists, and was a former championship boxer. Howard is traveling with a woman named Robin MacKensie, described as athletic and younger than Howard. They were last seen near Philadelphia where they evaded police.

“Police also want to know why Aviatrice Corporation, who had once had on its payroll the uncle of one of the victims in Philadelphia, has also donated substantial funds to the museum run by the fugitive. Sources in the aviation industry tell reporters that the murders may be related to the infamous Lawson treason case. On a related front, Howard is also suspected in the disappearance of a woman who worked for Aviatrice. Aviatrice is one of the largest defense contractors in the country and its stock today dropped several points on the New York Stock Exchange because of the controversy. Company spokesman Jessica Veal has offered full cooperation with the police in apprehending the fugitive.

“If you think you have seen Howard, do not take action yourself but immediately contact your local police. “

“I’m glad someone thought I was athletic,” smiled Robin.

“That’s about all the description the detectives could get out of Jeremy or Gladys. Bullard must have dug up that boxing history to make me look dangerous.”

No one was on the porch. Mike reached down and turned off the radio. “Let’s hope this is the only radio or television around here.”

“It’s almost the Fourth of July. Vacation time. People usually want to get away from the news. Maybe we’ll be lucky and no one will turn on any sets.”

“I’m sorry you’re involved in this, Robin.”

“I’m not.”

Inside was a small corridor, lined with black and white photography of schooners and other local watercraft taken probably in the nearby river. The hall was cool in the late afternoon heat. It smelled like old paint and carpet. A bulletin board held an article about the Inn.

Mike read the article. “This place has been here since whiskey running days in the 1920’s.”

“I like that,” Robin smiled. “Speakeasy parties.”

A portly, bleached blonde with a toothy smile came out, wiping her hands on a towel, the door behind her slapping shut.

“Wow, that was loud,” she laughed indicating the door. “Most noise around here all day. Howdy folks. You two staying for dinner?”

“We’ll take a room and dinner.”

“You’re lucky. Last room available before the Fourth of July crowd gets here. Fireworks right across the river. Swimming in the river and no sea nettles this far up the creek. Hope you’ll stay around.”

She thumbed through her registry book. “OK we got a nice one for you.” She handed Mike a card to sign.

“Just put down the make of your car.” Mike grinned at Robin on that question.

The woman did not notice and continued, “Dinner will be along in about an hour. Room is up the stairs, two doors down the hall on the left.”

She reached up on a shelf behind her. “Here’s the key.”

Upstairs Mike opened the door and waited while Robin went inside.

“Hey, where are your shoes?” he said.

“Back in the airplane,” she grinned, wiggling her bare toes.

In the room one window with chintz curtains looked out on the river. The bed was a four poster with a net canopy. Mike went over to the window and looked out.

“I almost expect to see some of those old Nanticoke natives coming out of the woods dressed in their magnolia leaves.”

“I’m first,” said Robin.

He turned and Robin had stripped off her yellow pants. She had nothing on underneath. He watched with a smile as she padded into the bathroom.

“You haven’t changed much, Robbie.”

“I like it when you call me that,” she laughed as she turned on the shower.

He heard the water running. Mike watched the fish jumping in the river. They jumped just at the edge of the shadows, looking for the insects that gathered on the water.

The shower water stopped.

“Your turn,” called Robin.

He stripped and walked into the bathroom.

She squeezed by him, a towel across her shoulders.

“Robbie,” he started to say.

She reached up her hand and touched his lips with her fingers, a smile on her face.” Get your shower first,” she said.

When he came out of the water, she was standing by the window, still naked.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

She turned.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

“Me too,” she said as she reached for him.

They kissed and then they kissed again.

They were late to dinner. Several tables were arranged around the dining room. Mike looked around but did not recognize any of the people.

“Getaway kind of place. All these people are out of towners, hiding out from wherever they come from. You can see it. Their eyes avoid ours,” he said as they sat down at the last empty table.

“That’s good for us.”

“I like this inn, “he said. The blond woman was waiting on tables and brought over the menu.

Robin smiled as she took the menu. “Let’s eat.” She looked up at him with a smile. “It’s going to work out, Mike.”

He leaned over and held her face in his hands and, while the waitress looked on with her ever-present country grin, Mike kissed Robin long and hard.

Chapter Thirteen

8 AM, July 3

Hoopersville, Maryland

It was a clear sunny morning. Mike let Robin sleep while he went to call Jesse at the Lawson farm. Jesse picked up within one ring.

“Jesse,” said Mike.

Jesse said only, “I’ll be there,” and hung up.

Mike went back to the room. Robin had thrown back the sheets. He sat and looked at her sleeping for a few moments, then he gently stroked her forehead to wake her. She opened her eyes and reached for him.

After they had kissed, he informed her that Jesse was on the way to meet them. She got up and began to dress. He went downstairs and paid for the room. Then he went outside and walked to the road. He stood back among the trees about a mile down the road watching for Jesse to come. He wanted to make sure Jesse wasn’t followed. In a few minutes, Robin joined him and they waited together.

Under the trees the air was cooler. The woods had a serene pine smell mixed with the distant odor of the river a few hundred yards away. Around them animals scratched at the twigs and leaves on the ground, making feeding noises. Birds made simple calling sounds while their wings fluttered and whirred back among the green and brown foliage.

Jesse Lawson arrived an hour later, driving his open Jeep, slowly. Mike noticed Jesse’s Chesapeake Retriever wasn’t with him. Mike watched down the road but no other cars appeared. Jesse stopped near the entrance to the inn. Mike and Robin walked out in the road and Jesse waved at them.

“Where’s your dog?” Mike said as he came up to the Jeep.

“I left him there, so they’d think I might be around the farm. The police are watching all the main roads.”

“They’ve been around to question you?”

“Oh, my God, yes. Police, FBI, newspaper people. The first ones wanted to find out what my relationship was with you. Now they’re coming around asking about my grandfather. I even did a talk show on him, can you believe it? The questions were fair, too.”

“The back roads are clear?” asked Mike.

“We’ll have to watch out, but I think we can make it.”

Mike told Jesse as quickly as he could what he had found out. He described what Jenni had overheard about Jessica Veal and Jesse’s bank loan.

“I get it,” said Jesse. “Look, I grew up planning for Aviatrice bullshit, Mike. Don’t you worry about me. They can’t get to me through money, especially through that punk, Billy Dulany. I’ve always made sure to have funds deposited in several banks, some of them easily big enough to handle old man Wall.”

“Tell me more about the news coverage,” asked Robin.

“Television is filled with news about you two. People have watched pictures of the museum and of my company and reporters have spouted lots of history of my grandfather. Jessica Veal was interviewed and showed reporters a museum room filled with the lab equipment from the 1946 explosion. Did you know those people even saved the chairs from the old Naval Factory?”