Skeleton Letters (34 page)

“What happened?” cried Ava. She'd been rocking backward and forward, as if being synced with the car could help propel it forward.

“We're stuck,” said Carmela.

Ava let the news sink in. “Can we get a tow truck?”

“Nope.”

“What are we going to do?”

Carmela let go of the steering wheel and flexed her fingers. “Push?”

“You're not serious,” said Ava. “I ...I can't push. I'm a one-hundred-thirty-pound weakling!”

Carmela chuckled. “You always told me you weighed a hundred and twenty.”

“I lied,” said Ava, who was way past hitting the panic button. She was venturing into hysteria territory. “But that's beside the point. The thing is, what are we going to
do
?”

“Not many choices,” said Carmela. She slipped off her shoes, then pushed open the driver's-side door and dangled a bare foot above the mud. “You scoot over here and drive. I'll jump out and push.”

“Drive?” said Ava. “But your car's a
stick
shift!”

“Just put it in first gear, and once we get going, pop it into second.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” said Ava, waving her hands wildly. “Your instructions ...you're making it very complicated.”

Carmela was incredulous. “Excuse me. A gal from Alabama who can't drive a stick shift?”

Ava gave a vigorous head shake. “Not for years. Not since I stole my cousin Jethro's pickup when I was fifteen and desperate to get to a dance over in Rock City.”

“Well ...tell me about that. Did you make it?”

“Yes, of course. I danced every dance and made out with Huey Everet behind the outhouse.”

“Then just pretend you're in the same situation, only with modern plumbing.”

Ava blinked rapidly as she tried to process this information. Then a sly grin stole across her face. “I guess when you put it that way ...move over, honey!”

B
UILT on stilts and hunkered into a grove of saw palmetto and tupelo trees, the Meechums' camp house was built of cypress and cedar boards that had been painstakingly split, sawed, planed, and nailed into place by hand. Windows were hinged on top and opened outward to allow breezes to sift through. Of course, the house could also be battened down in a heartbeat in case of bad weather. An open-air porch wrapped around the front and two sides; the steeply pitched roof was covered with corrugated tin.

Inside, the first level was a combination living room/ kitchen area with a small partitioned-off storage room. Up a narrow flight of stairs and stuck up in the rafters was the bedroom loft. Carmela had turned on the generator, so now the place was moody and lit with soft lighting.

“Oh my gosh,” Ava trilled, as they clomped into the camp house with all their gear and groceries, “this is so cozy.”

“It's homey but dusty,” said Carmela, stifling a sneeze. Shamus had been right. The place was thick with dust and the corners of the room festooned with spiderwebs.

But thirty minutes later, they'd pulled sheets off the leather sofa and chairs, wiped down the counters as well as the kitchen table and chairs, mopped up the cobwebs, primed the pump, and even started a fire in the small stone fireplace. Suddenly the camp house felt very warm and cheery and lived in. The rain had started up again and pattered down on the tin roof, lending a homey if not slightly melancholy sound effect.

Ava had changed into an oversized T-shirt and highheeled fuzzy slippers and was curled up on the couch. “It's like staying in a lodge.”

“Without the amenity of room service,” said Carmela.

Ava gave a slow wink. “But I've got you.”

“If you don't mind scrambled eggs and toast, you'll be fine.”

“Works for me,” said Ava. She leaned back against the sofa, looking sleepy and content. “Hey, there's a cassette player.” She pointed to a bookshelf tucked under one of the windows. “We could play some music.”

“If you're a fan of Alabama and the Carpenters.”

“Pass,” said Ava. “Too old-school.” But she was still contemplating the cassette player. “Isn't it weird how music has progressed, over the years, from albums to cassettes to CDs to iPods? I mean, what's next?”

“I don't know,” said Carmela, “Maybe implant a chip in your brain?”

“Hope not,” said Ava. She stretched out a long, bare leg and rested it on a leather hassock. “You think I should get a tattoo?”

“Why not?” said Carmela. “They're doing such great things with lasers these days.”

Ava stifled a giggle. “If I got a tattoo, there'd be no turning back. I'd keep it forever.”

Carmela lifted a single eyebrow. “What kind of design did you have in mind? And what part of your body would showcase this magnificent design?”

“I don't know. Maybe a yellow rose just above my sweet little dimpled knee?”

“Why not a magnolia blossom?” asked Carmela, playing along.

“Too complicated,” said Ava. An imp-like smile stole across her face. “You get one, too,” she urged. “We'll both pay a visit to Crazy Ink and make it a girls' bonding experience. Maybe meet some cool biker guys, too.”

“I'm really not a tramp-stamp kind of girl.”

“Think of it as scrapbooking your bod,” Ava teased. “You could do a fun design or some cool calligraphy or . . .”

A heavy thunk sounded on the roof. Like a weight being dropped from the heavens above. There was a moment of hesitation, then a loud, metallic tumbling as something rolled and bounced its way down the corrugated roof, picking up speed as it went.

Ava hit the deck like she was sliding into first base. Carmela ducked behind the sofa.

“Holy frizolli!” Ava yelped. “What was that?”

“Rock,” said Carmela. She said it calmly and without emotion. The same as if she'd uttered the words
dog poop
. “I think somebody tossed a rock onto the roof.”

“Who would do that?” hissed Ava. “I mean, out
here
?”

Carmela shook her head. “Don't know. Trapper, poacher, swamp rat, meth lab lowlife? Take your pick.” She was just thankful the windows were shut and latched. On the other hand, the camp house was solid, but no way was it an impenetrable fortress.

“Oh crap!” Ava clapped a hand over her mouth. “Do you think somebody followed us?”

Carmela was already running various permutations through her brain. None of them were good. “Maybe,” she allowed.

“Like the same person who left the note?”

“I don't know.” Carmela scanned the interior, looking for soft points. Places someone could force or batter their way in. Besides the front door, she didn't think there were any. At least she
hoped
there weren't.

“So you think it's just some good-ol'-boy hunter stumbling around out there?” said Ava.

“Trying to scare us? Could be.”

“But you're not sure.”

Carmela shook her head. She was concentrating, listening hard with every fiber of her being, waiting to see if there might be a repeat performance. So far, there wasn't. So . . .

Footsteps sounded on the front porch. Slow and deliberate. Someone was walking the length of the porch. They stopped, paused, then turned back.

“Is the door locked?” Ava whimpered.

“Yes,” said Carmela, as she focused on the front door. Seven feet high and constructed of solid oak, it was a considerable barrier. There was no window or peephole in the door, only a small arched window high above it.

“What if it's that guy from the Seekers?” asked Ava.

But Carmela wondered if it might not be Johnny Otis. After all, she'd given him Shamus's last name. Could Otis have tracked her that way? Maybe looked up property records? Had he left the note on her door and then tailed them here tonight? Or was someone else prowling around out there?

Staying low, Carmela scrabbled across the room and grabbed her bag off the kitchen table. Five seconds later she was back behind the sofa, digging through it.

“Phone?” asked Ava.

Carmela pulled out her cell phone as well as her handgun.

“You've got a gun?” Ava hissed.

Carmela nodded.

“With real bullets?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever fired it?”

Carmela grimaced. “Once. At a firing range.” Then she added, “I don't want to use it, but if we're pushed ...” She dropped the gun into the right-hand pocket of her sweater, keenly aware of its lumpiness and heft.

Ava looked genuinely frightened. “Better we try to get help. Is there cell phone service out here?”

“Sometimes. But it's spotty, at best.”

“Still,” said Ava, “you gotta try!”

Carmela tried. First she punched 911. No dice. Nothing happened at all. Just dead air. Then she punched in Babcock's cell phone number. She managed to coax out one strangled ring before it went dead. “Nothing's working,” Carmela whispered.

“Try again,” urged Ava.

“Try who?” asked Carmela.

“Anybody!”

Carmela thought for a minute, then punched in Shamus's phone number.

He answered on the fourth ring, with a sleepy, discombobulated “Hello?” that told her he'd been fast asleep.

“Shamus! Did somebody call you? Was somebody looking for me tonight?”

“Huh?” said Shamus. Then, sounding perturbed, he said, “I was asleep. You woke me up.” His voice was peevish and scratchy, like that of an unhappy five-year-old.

“Shamus, pay attention!” Carmela hissed.

But Shamus only coughed and mumbled, “What time is it?”

“Did someone call your house, Shamus?” Carmela asked. “After we stopped by? Was someone looking for us?”

“Um . . .”

“Think, Shamus!” Carmela ordered. She could sense his wheels turning, but very slowwwly.

“I guess so,” said Shamus. “Yeah, yeah they did.”

“Who was it?” asked Carmela.

“Um ... it was Baby,” said Shamus. “Baby called.”

“Are you sure it was Baby?” asked Carmela. “Because we're at the camp house and somebody's outside harassing us. And, just off the top of my head, I don't think it's our old friend Baby.”

“Whoever called
said
it was Baby,” Shamus whined.

“And it was a woman?”

“Ah ...yes.”

“And you took her at her word?” Carmela screeched. “And told her exactly where we were?”

“Well, yeah,” said Shamus, yawning. “Um . . .
what
time did you say it was?”

“Shamus,” said Carmela, “this is important. This is critically important. You must call Edgar Babcock right now and tell him exactly where we are. Tell him we might be in danger and have him send somebody out here immediately. And by somebody I mean police, sheriff, Coast Guard, or Fish and Wildlife Services. Now, will you do that? Can you do that?”

“I guess.”

“Then do it
now
, Shamus, and please don't let me down!”

“Jeez, Carmela,” Shamus croaked, “I'm not a moron!”

“Just make the call, Shamus.” Carmela clicked the Off button.

“What?” asked Ava. She was curled into a ball, halfway under a low wooden table.

“Some woman phoned Shamus, looking for us. He thought it was probably Baby, so he kind of revealed our location.” She chewed at her lower lip nervously. “But it wasn't Baby. Couldn't have been.”

“Then who?”

“Rain?” said Carmela. “Rain Monroe?”

“Oh, great,” said Ava. “Now we've got a crazy lady stalking us.”

“Don't make this worse than it is,” said Carmela. “Don't let your mind run wild.”

“But Rain could have a gun, too!”

“We don't know that,” said Carmela.

“Think about it!” said Ava. “If Rain's the one who killed Byrle and Brother Paul, then maybe she's come here to kill us!”

“We're going to be okay,” Carmela said. She tried to keep her voice calm. “We haven't heard anything from outside for a couple of minutes, so that's a good thing. We'll just stay right here with the doors and windows locked.”

“Okay.” Ava gave a stuttering nod. “Whatever you say.”

“And then, in about fifteen or twenty minutes, someone from the sheriff's department or Fish and Wildlife Services is going to knock on our door. And then we really will be perfectly fine.”

Ava glanced toward the door. “If somebody's still out there, can they see through that window up there?”

“Not unless they stand on something,” said Carmela. “And that's probably not . . .”

The window above the door suddenly exploded inward, sending shards of glass ripping through the camp house. Carmela threw up her arms and turned her head away. “Gun blast!” she cried.

“Ayyy!” Ava's high-pitched scream rent the air.

“Are you hit?” Carmela screamed as she got her knees under her and made a frantic, stumbling dive toward Ava. “Are you hit?”

“I don't know!” Um ...” Ava pressed the back of her shaking hand to her forehead. When she took it away, bright red blood was smeared across her brows and forehead. Ava's eyes went wide and her face turned deathly pale. “Oh jeez, Carmela. I'm hit, I am hit!”

C
ARMELA pulled the scarf from around her neck, prepared to make a tourniquet. “Let me see!”