One Foot in the Grove (30 page)

Hidden from above by darkness and wire grass, the pit in the woods was no less than six feet deep and at least as long, by about three feet wide.

It was an open grave.

At the bottom of the grave, I'd landed face-first into the dirt next to one of our missing shovels from home—one of the ones that I remembered Daphne and the twins had been looking for earlier in the day. I'd found the other one at the bottom of the pond. Sal's crashing and wheezing, from somewhere in the woods above me, was coming closer. I grabbed the shovel and scrambled to my feet, pressing myself back against the short wall of the coffin-sized pit. Maybe he wouldn't see me, I thought. Better still, maybe he wouldn't see the pit and he'd run right by.

“C'mon, Cupcake, don't be hiding!” Sal huffed. His steps pounded the ground as he tore through the wire grass. It sounded like he'd almost reached the grave. Would he just pull out a gun and shoot me? I heard him pick up his pace. “Cup-caaake!” he teased. “We're gonna have a real good time to-nighhhhh-yaaa . . . !”

Sal Malagutti tumbled down into the hole, right in front of me. He landed standing on his feet. And he didn't seem too fazed by the fall. In fact, the very moment he realized I was there, he charged at me.

“Oh yeah! I'm havin' me my piece of cupcake tonight!” Sal said with a lecherous grin.

As burly hands forcefully grabbed my neck and shoulders, he pressed himself into me—all of him. His garlicky breath huffed in my face. I felt his unshaven face against mine. His nasty, massive body crushed me against the dirt wall of the grave.

I looked past Sal and threw myself back against the dirt behind me. “Copperhead!”

Sal hesitated. And when he tilted his head just a bit to look back and check for the snake that I'd pretended was behind him, it was my moment.

Pinned flat, with all the force I could muster, I raised up my knee between his beefy thighs. With all my might, I jabbed my knee fast and hard into his groin. I must've practiced it a hundred times in my head since he'd first threatened me in the cottage. As he cried out and staggered back, clutching himself, I tried to get away from the wall as I grabbed the shovel. Before Sal had time to lunge at me again, I closed my eyes and whacked him on the head as hard as I could.

Sal Malagutti crumpled in front of me and didn't move.

I stood still, shaking, pinned between Sal at my feet and the short wall of the grave behind me. Then, up above, I heard Guido, headed in the same direction.

“Oh my God!”

I was having trouble breathing; my rib felt broken and, exhausted as I was, I was having trouble thinking on my feet. There wasn't enough left of me to hold up against another attack.

“Boss? You gotcha some o' that cupcake cutie?” called Guido between his huffs and puffs above us. Thrashing and wheezing through the wire grass, I could hear him getting closer.

“I want some of that cupcake, too . . . Hey? . . . You alright? Boss? Where are ya?” He coughed and wheezed some more as he neared the grave.

He was closer still.

Almost on top of us. I held my breath. Shaking.

“Boss?”

And wouldn't you know it? Guido let out a yelp and tumbled down into the grave, landing right on top of Sal in front of me. Only, I didn't have to whack him with the shovel. He just started hollering about how he'd broken his leg.

Then, off in the distance, I heard Dolly barking.

I'd never been so glad to hear a barking dog in all my life. Just a minute later, Buck reached down into the grave and, with one muscled arm, hauled me out and away from wailing Guido, who was going on and on about his broken leg. Sal was stirring awake in the bottom of the pit underneath his blubbering buddy.

“Aw,” said Buck softly. “We gotta stop meetin' like this, Babydoll.”

I was sobbing. I couldn't help it. Scared out of my wits, I was humbled and angry at having been so helpless.

“Talk about havin' one foot in the grave!” joked Buck. “Looks like you jumped in with both feet, Timex!”

He put a big arm around me and hugged me as I heaved and sobbed uncontrollably. I could barely breathe with my achy rib; still, I didn't care. Buck felt just as warm and safe as he had eighteen years ago. Only he was bigger, stronger now. He held me close and snuggled his head down next to mine.

“Eva? Y'all alright?” he whispered. “Did they hurt you?”

With two hands, he tried to pull my head away to look at my face, but I buried it deeper into his chest, shaking my head and clutching onto his shirt. I didn't want him to see me. Still, I didn't seem able to let go. He wrapped his arms around me and held me as I wept.

Finally, Dolly jumped up on my leg and whimpered.

“Someone's tryin' to get your attention,” whispered Buck. He slowly released me. Before he could look at my tearstained, blotchy face, I bent down to Dolly.

“Hey, Dolly girl, what ya got there?” I wiped my eyes and hugged Dolly before she wriggled free and licked my face.

“Oh shoot!” I jumped up, grabbing my front pocket. “The ring! I can't feel the ring!” I shoved my hand in my pocket and felt around for Pep's ring. “Oh. Phew! It's here.” I pulled out Pep's skull ring and studied it.

“What's that?”

“It's Pep's. I found it in the cabin.”

Buck raised his eyebrows. “The cabin we were in earlier?”

“Yes. The same one your detective and his crackerjack crew checked so thoroughly.” I rolled my eyes. “I think Billy might have given this to Leonard to pay off a gambling debt. I've been worried that Billy might have killed Leonard over it.”

“You lost me, Babydoll.”

“Well, I suppose I should've mentioned it earlier—but it was family and all.”

“You mean, there's
more
you haven't told me?”

I sighed. “Pep told me that Billy had gone out on the night of the murder. She thought he might have gone gambling. And initially, I was concerned that he might have had something to do with all this murder business. Still, he's family. So, I didn't say anything. Later, I figured out that he might be having an affair.”

“An affair?”

“He made a Pooty call that night. At least I thought so,
until I found Pep's ring. Now, I don't know what to think. Maybe he was gambling in the cabin.”

“A ‘Pooty call'? You mean he's been doin' Pooty Chitty?”

I shurgged. Buck started chuckling.

“It isn't funny! Pep's my sister, and she deserves better,” I sobbed.

“I'm not laughing at Pep. You're right. She does deserve better. Billy's a cad. I'm laughing at your ‘Pooty call.'” Buck stopped for a moment. Then he chuckled again and said, “I've always called it a ‘Pooty Chitty Bang Bang.'”

I looked up at Buck. His eyes twinkled mischievously, and his dimpled smile was broad.

“Omigosh! That's terrible! Besides, why would you ever say such a thing? Unless . . .” I looked at Buck and frowned. “You? And Pooty?” My mouth dropped open.

Buck shook his head. “Forget it. Let's just say Pooty has a rep for having been around the block. More than a few times.”

“Well, you would know, now, wouldn't you?”

“Thatta girl, Babydoll. See, you're feelin' better already.”

“Is someone gonna help me!” Guido yelled from the grave. “I'm gonna
die
!”

Buck pointed to a boulder about thirty feet away. “Eva, can you walk?”

I nodded.

“Help!” Guido wailed from the pit.

“Go sit over there, please. And don't move.” He watched me scuffle to the boulder as he punched a button on his phone and stepped back to the grave. “Thanks for dropping in, boys,” he said to Sal and Guido. He mumbled something into his cell phone.

I sat numb on the boulder, trying to compose myself, while Buck stood at the edge of the pit, sometimes on his phone, sometimes with his arms folded, as Guido wailed and blubbered about his leg and the fact that he'd heard Sal mumble something about a copperhead being in the pit.

After several minutes, Buck turned to me and said,
“Don't worry, Eva. Billy's a cad and a cardsharp. He's no killer.”

I just nodded. Then, a minute or so later, Buck said, “Give me your phone number.”

“What?”

“I said, give me your phone number. I'm callin' you.”

“But I'm not there. I mean, the phone's not here. You know what I mean. I can't answer. I don't know where my phone is.”

“I know that, Babydoll. I'm just callin' so you'll have my number.”

“I don't need your number.”

“Yes. You do.”

“I won't call.”

“Yes. You will. Unless you want to have another night like this.”

“I'll never have another night like this.” I waited a beat. “Besides, if I call, what if Debi answers?”

“She won't.”

“Don't bet on it.”

Buck chuckled. “No one knows this number 'cept a couple of my deputies.”

“I bet Debi has it.”

Buck didn't answer.

“And anyway, like I said, I don't need your number.”

Buck shook his head and walked over to me on the rock.

“Girl, I never had to work so hard to get a number in my life. I'm tryin' to keep you safe. That's all. Give it up, Eva.” He put his hand on my shoulder.

I mumbled the number.

“Now, I want you to carry your phone. And I want you to call me when you get into trouble. Lord knows, you will. This was too close for comfort.”

“I won't get into trouble.”

“Yes. You will, Babydoll. You're a magnet for disaster. And I'm not sure how many lickin's like this you can take before you stop tickin'. No one can keep this up.”

“Keep what up?”

“This attraction to danger that you have. You're like a bug at night chasin' the light. Honestly, I'm not sure how you managed to keep landing on your feet these past few days without gettin' yourself killed.”

“Maybe I'm special.”

“Well, if that's what it is, ‘special' nearly put you in your grave, Babydoll. Permanently. Next time, at the first whiff of trouble, I want you to call. It's not hard; you just push the little button. Like this, see?” Buck smiled teasingly as he held up his phone and demonstrated. “I'll answer.”

“Fine.”

“Fine? What does that mean, Babydoll?”

“I will.”

“I will, what?”

“I will carry my phone.”

“And?”

“And I will call you when I get into trouble. Except, I won't.”

“You will, Babydoll. A leopard can't change her spots.”

Suddenly, Guido's blubbering over in the grave was drowned out by the deafening sounds of fast Honda utility ATVs carrying deputies. They were followed by a slower, bigger John Deere Gator painted in camo colors. A uniformed deputy drove while Detective Gibbit, wearing a Backstreet Boys tee shirt, sat on the passenger side. Later, an even bigger orange four-seat Kubota with a dump bed in back mashed its way through the wire grass and pulled up next to the grave. Deputies and EMTs were running through the woods, people were shouting orders, taking out equipment, flashing spotlights, and, eventually, everyone gathered around Buck and the grave with the gangsters.

No one seemed to notice Dolly and me, and I was grateful to stay out of the fray, off to the side on my rock. Once Guido, and then Sal, had been pulled out from the grave and handcuffed—Guido with a group of EMTs working around his leg, Sal with EMTs taking his pulse and flashing little lights in his eyes—I hobbled over a little closer to the group, to listen.

“This is a mistake!” cried Sal, full of his usual vigor again. “We flew down from New York to celebrate Judi and my's thirtieth wedding anniversary! We're just vacationing.”

“And how come you came here? To the Knox place?” asked Detective Gibbit. Along with his Backstreet Boys shirt, he wore baggy, plaid Bermuda shorts that hung below his knees and lime green plastic Crocs with black socks.

“Eli, this isn't the time,” said Buck. “We'll do this down at the station.”

“No! Wait! This is all a setup!” said Sal. “That crazy runaway bitch set up this whole thing!”

“Explain,” said Detective Gibbit. “And we know
all about
you being wise guys.”

I saw Buck grimace before he put a hand to his face. In that one moment, I realized Buck shared my opinion regarding Detective Gibbit. Well, that was something, I thought.

“Monday morning, Guido and I met up with the guide here to go fishing. Only the guide turns out to be Lenny from the family back up in Boston. I says, ‘Lenny, what are you doing here?' And Lenny says, ‘What a coincidence,' that Guido and I should turn up in Georgia, right where he's got his new job. Right then and there, I figure he's scoping out the place for a business acquisition.”

“That true, Mister Gambini?” asked Detective Gibbit.

“Sure,” said Guido. “Whatever the boss says. Owweee! Watch it there! My leg!”

“Either of you folks know who hit Miss Loretta Lemoni—formerly known as Loretta Cook—in the head? And any of you know what might have happened to the brake line in her car?”

“That was her car? Shoot. I thought it was Lenny's car.”

“Stick a glove in it, Guido,” said Sal.

“You folks decide to make something look like an accident?” asked the detective.

“This here, this was gonna be
our
olive farm. We thought of it first,” said Guido. “Owww!”

“Jesus, Guido, would ya shut up? If it weren't already broken, I'd go and break your leg for ya!”