Three Times Lucky (21 page)

“She’s an orphan,” I said. “She told me.”

He frowned. “Why would she tell
you
that?”

“Because I told her about Upstream Mother, and how I ain’t yet found her,” I said. “Deputy Marla and I got a lot in common.”

He snorted. “No you don’t. She’s playing you.”

“Playing me? Why would she? There ain’t nothing to win.”

“Yes there is, you just can’t name it yet,” he said. “Believe me. She’s as much a con as my uncle Mike, and he’s doing three to five.”

“You just don’t trust her because she’s law enforcement.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He slung a stick into the tobacco field. “Fetch it, Liz,” he said. “Good girl!” We walked the rest of the way in silence.

Skeeter showed up a half hour later, swinging a battered attaché case. “Hey,” she said. “I caught a ride with Mama so I wouldn’t mess up your phone tap. She brought y’all a broccoli casserole.”

I gasped.

“Broccoli casserole? Your mama’s Death Dish?” Dale said, looking up from the tangle of worn plow lines at his feet. “Who died? What have you heard?”

“Nobody,” she said quickly. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Mo. Everything’s fine. We just didn’t know what to bring for a kidnapping, but that seems to comfort people when somebody … goes away. Anyway, hope you like it.”

“Thanks,” I said, my heart finding its usual pace. “That’s nice of you all.”

She opened her attaché. “Anyway, I wanted to report. We checked those serial numbers, Mo. The C-note from the church
is
hold-up money.”

Dale whistled. “So Mr. Jesse
was
in on the heist.”

“He was at least in on the loot,” she said. “But the five-dollar bill was clean.”

“It was?” Suddenly I felt like a half-million dollars, even if I couldn’t lay my hands on it. “Great.”

“Five-dollar bill?” Dale asked. “What five?”

“Tell you later,” I said. “Thanks, Skeeter.”

“Don’t thank me,” she said. “My cousin at the bank’s drive-thru couldn’t do a thing. Thank Anna Celeste. Her great-aunt on her mother’s side runs a bank in Wilmington. Sal talked to her for you.” She glanced at the house. Deputy Marla and Skeeter’s mother were walking to the van, chatting like old friends. “See you, Desperados.”

As Skeeter strolled away, Dale picked up a snarl of old
reins and began teasing the knots apart. I could feel the anger rolling off his silence.
Now what?

Oh yeah. Right. The five-dollar bill.

“I guess you’re wondering about that five spot,” I said. He didn’t look up. “It’s the Emergency Five from my suitcase. The one that’s always been there. I kind of thought it might be a clue.”

“And you didn’t tell me because … ?”

“I don’t know,” I said. Even to me it sounded like a lie.

“You thought maybe the Colonel was in on the heist, so you had the number run without telling me,” he said, his voice flat. “What if it had come back the other way? What if it was part of the loot? Were you going to tell me then?” When I didn’t answer, he shook his head. “I thought we were partners,” he said.

“We are. I didn’t tell you because … I don’t know. I should have,” I said. His fingers worked at the knot, pulling, tugging. “Give me a break, Dale. Deputy Marla’s right. If I can’t figure this out, I’m alone. I got nobody except an Upstream Mother I can’t find.”

“Nobody?”
He dropped the reins and stared at me so angry, his lips went pale. “You got people driving out here to sit with you, bringing you food. You got Skeeter helping. You got Sal breaking her family rules for you. You got Anna Celeste helping, and she can’t stand you. You got me, and Mama, and Lavender. You got a town
full
of nobodies, in case you haven’t noticed,” he said, his voice picking up steam.

“And I’m sick of hearing about your Upstream Mother. You think you’re the only person that ever got thrown away?” he said. “You think Anna Celeste doesn’t get thrown away every time her mother looks razor blades at her? You think I don’t get thrown away every time Daddy …”

He clamped his mouth shut. He sat there looking like a tired, angry old man. Then he jumped to his feet and brushed past me, heading for the house.

An hour later I tapped on the door of Lavender’s old room. “Dale?” I turned the porcelain knob and pushed the door open a whisper. “Can I come in?”

“If you want to,” he said, his voice like frost.

He sat sideways in an overstuffed chair by the window, his legs over the chair arm, leafing through a back issue of
NASCAR Illustrated
magazine. Liz curled by his chair. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“Really?” he said, squinting at a photograph.

I sighed. Dale can be stubborn.

“I know how much you and Miss Rose and Lavender do for me,” I said. “I appreciate it. I know this ain’t a great time for you all, with your daddy acting the way he is.” He turned a page. “I hate him for hitting you, Dale.”

He shrugged. “Nobody said anything about—”

“I’ve seen the marks. If he tries it around me, I’ll take him down.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m a born scrapper, plus I have karate skills,” I reminded him.

He looked up. Finally. “He’s twice as big as you are, Mo. And he ain’t like Mr. Li, at Karate Night. When Daddy hits, he means it. And he’s getting worse. That’s why Mama’s thrown him out.”

“Mr. Li says no matter how big the enemy—”

“Don’t hit him unless you aim to kill him, Mo,” he said, looking me full in the face. “I mean it.” I could hear myself swallow. “Hey, I got an idea,” he said, his voice flat. “Let’s talk about something you actually know about. Like that five-dollar bill.”

I sat on the edge of Lavender’s old bed and looked around. It was a used-to-be room full of kid stuff left behind. “When Starr said he’d run the serial number on that dollar bill over the café’s door, that five was the only other old piece of money I could think of. I didn’t tell you because …” I stared at the rag rug. “I was ashamed.”

He closed his magazine. “Of the Colonel?”

“Of me, for not being sure. I’m sorry,” I said. “I hope you’ll forgive me.” I looked out the window. A bedsheet flapped on Miss Rose’s wash-line.

He propped his chin on his hand and studied me, his blue eyes serious in his freckled face. Then, like sunlight after rain: “Okay,” he said. “I forgive you.”

Dale kills me. “Just like that?” I never forgive. I like revenge too much.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m Baptist. So far, Fast or Never is the only speeds I got with forgiving. But from here on, Mo, if we’re partners, we’re partners. If we’re not, we’re not. You decide, and decide it now.”

“Partners.”

He jumped up. “Good. Let’s give Queen Elizabeth a bath. Lavender’s coming for supper, and I want her to smell good.”

“Dale,” I said, “you’re the best friend I got.”

“I know.” He grinned. “Come on, Desperado. You wash and I’ll dry.”

By the next morning, Hurricane Amy had hit the warm Gulf Stream waters and swerved north. “She’s coming,” Miss Rose said, clicking the television off. “You three get the house ready. I’m going to head into town for supplies—batteries, candles, drinking water. Dale, find the transistor radio, honey, and make sure it’s working. Then tie down the stable and the yard. Mo, could you give him a hand?”

I nodded, trying not to think of the Colonel and Miss Lana. It didn’t work.

She grabbed her keys and gave me a quick hug. “Mo, you know why Starr hasn’t found Lana, don’t you?”

“Because Slate is a reptile, making it impossible to guess where he is or when he’s going to strike?” I guessed.

“Because he’s greedy and he’s smart,” she said. “Slate believes Lana’s worth a half-million dollars. Believe me, he’ll keep her safe so he can cash in. We’ll find her, Mo. We just need some faith. All right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, hoping she was right.

I looked across the barnyard as she drove away. To the east, the clouds gathered like an invading army.

Dale and I tied down the porch furniture and headed for the stable. The wind had picked up. It rolled across the fields in waves, tearing the brittle tobacco leaves. As I watched the clouds boil toward us, I made a decision. “If Slate calls again, I’m paying the ransom,” I told Dale.

“With what?” he asked, scurrying up the rough wood ladder to the stable loft. “We ain’t got ten dollars between us.”

“Slate don’t know that.”

“You’re nuts. Stand back,” he called, dropping a bale of hay. I cut the rough baling twine with his pocketknife and carried an armload of prickly, sweet-smelling hay to Cleo’s stall. “She’ll be extra-hungry,” he said, looking at the sky. “She always is in a hurricane. Same thing happens to me.”

He led Cleo into the stall and removed her bridle. “You’ll be okay,” he told her, running his hand along her flank. “You’ll do just fine.”

We spent the rest of the morning putting up or tying down anything the wind could throw or steal. Liz stuck close as the clouds rolled in dark and sullen. “She’s clingy,” Dale said, nudging her out of the way with his knee. “She feels the storm.”

By lunchtime, the storm had claimed half the sky.
The tops of limber young pines swayed in the wind as giant oaks and pecan trees groaned and creaked. “Hey Deputy,” Dale yelled as we slammed the back door and swarmed the kitchen. “You want a cucumber sandwich?”

Silence.

We found her stretched out on the settee, asleep with her mouth open, her hand curled over her pistol. “How can she sleep with a hurricane coming?” I asked.

“Shhhhh,” Dale said. “She got in late.”

“She left us? Why? She’s supposed to be waiting for Slate’s call.”

He shrugged. “Let’s eat.”

We tiptoed back to the kitchen. Halfway through our sandwiches the phone jangled, and we both jumped. “Slate!” I cried, reaching for the phone.

He knocked my hand away. “No. We got to trace the call. I’ll get Deputy Marla.” He sprinted across the room. As he cleared the doorway, I grabbed the phone.

“Slate? Mo LoBeau. You win, dirtbag. I know where your half-million dollars is. I’ll take you to it as soon as you give the Colonel and Miss Lana back. I get them, you get the money. Deal?”

The voice on the end of the line came through scratchy and thin. “Soldier?”

My heart exploded like fireworks. “Colonel?”

“Listen to me,” he said. “I’ve escaped. …” The call faded, then popped back in. “… Slate’s after me. As soon … I lose Slate … return … free Lana.” The call faded again.

“Colonel?”

“… my closet … shelf … packet. … to Rose’s. … Don’t trust anyone …”

“But Starr says—”

“Don’t trust … Starr. Don’t trust …”

“Why not?” I heard a hollow click. Deputy Marla had cut into our line.

“Go …” he said, his voice full of urgency.

“I don’t have to, moron,” I snapped, hoping he would play along. “I already told you, I don’t want your stupid all-expense-paid vacation. Neither does Deputy Marla. Ask her yourself, jerk brain. She just came on the line.”

It worked.

The Colonel hung up. I stood in the kitchen, my heart turning handsprings. The Colonel was free! Soon Miss Lana would be too. I wanted to laugh out loud.
He’s free, he’s free, he’s free,
my heart pumped.

As Deputy Marla charged down the hall I smoothed the grin off my face.
Think. Tell her the Colonel’s free, and Starr will be her first call. And Starr can’t be trusted.
I chewed my lip, trying to remember if she had met
the Colonel, if she might have recognized his voice. She answered the question for me. “Telemarketer?” she asked, stepping into the room.

I nodded, trying to look miserable. I had to go home, find that packet and get back before the storm hit. “Yeah,” I said. “False alarm. You can go back to sleep.”

“I’m caught up with my rest,” she said, stretching.

“Why weren’t you here last night?” I asked. “Slate might have called.”

“Joe said he needed my help with some reports,” she said, reaching for the mayonnaise. “It was a calculated risk. What was your telemarketer selling?”

“A cruise.” I grinned. “Into a hurricane. Come on, Dale. We still got to tie things down at the tobacco shelter.”

“Maybe we can let that stuff blow away,” he muttered.

Deputy Marla stifled a yawn. “Stay where I can see you,” she called as the screen door slapped shut behind us.

It took me ten seconds flat to clue Dale in. “We got to go to my place. I’m swearing you to secrecy,” I told him. “Fink me out on this and your life won’t be worth goose spit.”

“I don’t think you should threaten a partner. Plus, geese don’t spit,” he said. He grabbed my arm. “And your house is a crime scene!” he cried as if he’d just thought
of it. Which, maybe he had. “I could get grounded for the rest of my life.”