Turkey Ranch Road Rage (37 page)

I looked at Jerry and he looked at me. “What papers?” we said in unison.

“I don’t know. He said it was best if I didn’t look at them so I didn’t. It was support for the cause, I suppose.”

Jerry turned around in the seat and looked back at Lucille. “What about the documents you said would be out here? Where are those?”

“Yes, well, I said I have them and I do,” Lucille snapped, still scowling. “They’re in the crappie house too. They’re all right there together.”

“None of that silly safe deposit box stuff for us,” I chirped. “We Jacksons use the crappie house.”

Lucille glared at me again, but oddly did not direct “Missy” to shut her smart and/or hateful mouth. Instead, she lifted her nose and turned her head away from me and to Jerry. “Regarding Tiger’s papers,” she said coolly, “I didn’t look at them because he asked me not to. I also knew that no one would think of looking there so they would be safe. Besides, Bob was here—”

“About that—”

“I did what I had to do,” Lucille said, emotion cracking in her voice. “Bob trusted me and Tiger did too and I did what I thought was right. I have spent my whole life doing what I thought was right and now look at what’s become of it.”

I’d thought we were headed out here to clean the skeletons out of the family closet and reinvent my childhood memories so they resembled reality. But apparently, I was mistaken. Or either that was second or third on the list. At this point, I truly had no idea what to expect.

Jerry had eased up to the cabin, but was still a good thirty or forty feet away when Lucille opened her door. “Where’s the flashlight? Just give it to me and I’ll go get the papers,” she said, hopping out.

“Absolutely not,” Jerry barked, slamming on the brakes. “Get back in the car.”

Lucille instantly obeyed, which seemed as shocking to her as it did to the rest of us. “Well, you wanted me out here. I just want this awful business over and done with.”

He put the car in park and turned off the ignition. “I want you both to stay in the car until I get back.” He opened the door and stepped out then leaned back in to look at Lucille. “Most especially you.” He pulled a small flashlight from the side pocket. “Now, exactly where will I find these papers?”

“In a metal box inside the bench,” Lucille said. “Just lift up the cushion and top. You can’t miss it.”

“Stay put,” he reiterated, closing the door. He turned on his flashlight, which put out an intense beam for such a small unit, then headed down the hill to the lake.

We watched in silence, following Jerry by his light until he disappeared. After a few more long minutes of silence, Lucille said, “You know that old saying that blood is thicker than water?”

“Of course.”

“Well, it’s not true. Family is family. It doesn’t matter about blood and I don’t care what anybody says.”

I guessed this was her way of telling me that Bertram was still my father even though his blood didn’t flow in my veins. I knew that, of course, but as far as emotional intimacy with Lucille, this was new and unexplored territory. “Look, I know you had your reasons for doing what you did. It’s easy to sit in judgment now, but I know from my own mistakes that if I could have done better I would have.”

“I made my choices and I stand by them,” she said defiantly.

I had no idea what rationalization and justification she’d concocted over the years, but it had to be really good to still inspire such vehemence. “You really wouldn’t change a thing?”

“No, ma’am, I would not!” she snapped.

I shrugged. “Well, if Jerry had lived next door to me while I was married to Danny, I can’t say for sure what I’d have done. I still think I’d have had some remorse over it.”

“I did not cheat on your father!” Lucille snapped. “And I do not want to hear you saying that I did ever again!”

I leaned around the seat and stared at her. “Then why in the hell are we here and what is the big secret?”

“For such a smart girl you can be really stupid sometimes.”

“I suppose I come by it honestly.”

She glared harder. “I suppose you don’t!”

A flicker of light flashed through the car as Jerry walked up the hill with the box.

“Jerry’s back with your box of papers. Now you can start explaining your cryptic remarks so I know what the hell you’re talking about because nothing you’ve said so far has made one bit of sense.”

Before I’d finished my sentence, however, Lucille had leaped from the car and was scurrying toward the cabin door, key in hand.

I followed and Jerry turned that direction as well. He looked at me and I just shrugged.

Lucille grabbed the door handle with one hand and shoved her key in with the other.

Boom!

Chapter
Twenty-Six

The cabin exploded, the concussion blowing out the doorway and windows.

Lucille flew back across the grass, landing in a heap about ten feet away. The door spun in the air, hurtling toward me. I dove to the ground as it slammed down between Mother and me.

Smoke boiled out from the cabin and debris rained down on us.

My ears roared and my whole body rolled. I dug my fingers into the grass, trying to still the earth as waves of dizziness swept through me.

Jerry jumped to his feet and ran toward Mother and knelt beside her, feeling her neck then checking her over. Then he ran to me.

“Jolene, are you okay?”

I nodded, hoping it was true.

“Your mother’s been hurt.”

I knew that. I’d seen her fly through the air and land in a heap. Yet hearing him say it, brought reality crashing in and pumped another fresh wave of fear and adrenalin through me. I pushed myself up on my hands and knees then Jerry helped me to stand.

“Go over there, but don’t move her. Keep her airway open. I didn’t see any major bleeding, but if you do, use pressure,” he said, turning toward the car. “I’ll call for help.”

I nodded and staggered forward then dropped to the ground beside her.

Lucille lay on her left side, arm underneath and leg drawn up. Her right hand still clenched as if holding the key. She looked like a rag doll that had been run over by a bus, battered, limp and lifeless. Her always perfect hairdo was matted with debris and the stench of burnt hair stung my nose.

Something crashed inside the cabin and I snapped my gaze toward it. A few sparks shot up, but nothing blazed up immediately. I sure wished I could get Mother farther away. But even if Jerry hadn’t told me not to move her, I wouldn’t have considered it. From the way she laid on the ground, it was extremely likely that her shoulder, arm and hip had suffered damage to one degree or another. A concussion was probably a good guess as well.

These thoughts had flown by in literally milliseconds. And while my heart was racing and I didn’t really know what to do, I was fairly clear headed, which was both a surprise and a relief. And then I thought I heard her moan.

“Mother?” I gently touched her face. “Can you hear me?”

Another moan and her lips moved. She muttered something, but I couldn’t understand her.

“It’s okay, Mother, I’m here. Just lie still. Help is coming.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, Jerry was at my side.

“A helicopter is on the way,” he said, laying out a tarp beside Lucille. “I told them to expect fractures and that she would need to be immobilized. Also a probable head injury. Did you find any significant bleeding?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Good,” Jerry said. “Now, we’re going to slide this tarp under her and then drag her away from the cabin just to be safe.”

“You told me not to move her,” I protested.

“That cabin could start blazing or something else could explode. I don’t want either of you this close. I also don’t want you out on the open.”

He didn’t explain and it was just as well since I did not want to think about who had planted the bomb in my mother’s cabin or if they were still here, watching and waiting to do more.

Jerry gently lifted her top half and I slid the tarp under her as much as possible. We inched the tarp under her hip then slid it relatively easily under her legs. She moaned, loudly a few times, but never gained consciousness, which was a blessing for all of us.

“Hold that end and just keep her on the tarp. Let me do the pulling,” he said, then quickly slid her away from the cabin to the back of the car.

After we stopped, I smoothed out the tarp and sat down beside her. We had been very careful to not alter her position any more than necessary so she still lay on her side.

Jerry bent down beside her and tipped her chin up. “Keep talking to her. Tell her it will be okay. I have to check the area.” He must have sensed my panic because he reached down and squeezed my shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll be back. I have to take the offensive or he’ll flank us and we’ll be targets. Understand?”

I nodded. And while I did understand, I did not want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about Jerry going out after the shooter or that the shooter was probably working his way to a clear shot at us behind the car. I didn’t want to, but I was. Lucille groaned and refocused me. “Mother? Can you hear me? It’s Jolene? Mom?”

She moaned some more and moved her mouth a little as if she was trying to talk.

“Mother, it’s Jolene. You’re okay, just banged up pretty good. Can you tell me what hurts?”

“Jolene…” She moaned again. “It hurts.”

“What hurts? Mother, can you tell me what hurts?”

“Everything. My leg. Oh, my leg.”

I couldn’t see anything obviously wrong with either leg, although I knew there certainly was. Since she was lying on her left side, most of the damage was likely there. I ran my hand lightly over her right leg. “Does it hurt here?” No response. I touched the left leg, just above the knee and she muttered and groaned. I touched again near her ankle and she screamed.

“Stop that!” she howled, her eyelids snapping open.

“Mother, it’s Jolene, you’ve been hurt. You need to stay still.”

“Oh, my Lord,” she said, her eyes looking ahead but not really focused on anything. “My leg. It’s on fire.”

“How about your hip, does it hurt?”

“Everything hurts! Oh, my Lord, what have you done to me?”

Well, in a weird way it was comforting to hear her blame me. I knew it might just be adrenaline and/or a serious head injury talking, but dealing with Lucille’s accusations made things seem sort of normal, and under the circumstances that was comforting. I knew it would be best to keep her talking and conscious, such as it was. Focusing on what was hurting and how bad wasn’t going to help at the moment so I figured I could distract her by engaging in her favorite pastime—detailing my faults. “So, Mother, what is it that you think I did wrong?”

“Well, my Lord, Jolene, we don’t have time for all that. I’ve got to be at the Dairy Queen by four. Merline and Agnes are waiting on me, and the special goes off at five.”

“You’ve got plenty of time, Mother, don’t worry about it or not.”

She flung her left arm up and squinted as if looking at a wristwatch. “Oh, my Lord, would you just look at the time? I’m late. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, if I’m not fifteen minutes early I’m late, late, late! Now let me up, I’ve got to go. Why are you keeping me down here?”

Well, the good news was that her right side looked in pretty good shape because she was waving her arm around and peddling with her leg to try to stand up. The left side was a different matter. I moved down toward her feet, caught her in mid-pedal and slipped off the right shoe.

“Don’t you be taking my shoes,” she screeched. “I need those. You can’t have my shoes!”

Her left foot and ankle had already started to swell so something was wrong—broken ankle, foot, toes or all the above. Whatever the case, getting that shoe off now would probably help. I put my hand around her ankle and put some pressure on it before I tried tugging off the shoe. She didn’t scream this time so I thought I could do it and not hurt her.

“What are you doing? Oooowwww!” she screeched as I slipped off her left shoe. “Why are you taking my shoes? Stop it. That hurts.”

I kept saying things that I thought might be reassuring or calming, although I don’t think she heard any of them. She kept babbling about getting to the DQ on time and how Merline would gloat if she was even ten seconds late and such. She did forget about her shoes though, which was good. I tried to convince her to stay as still as possible, but she ignored me. The pain, however, kept her in check to some degree. I kept my hand on her shoulder to keep her from trying to roll onto her back.

From the way she’d landed, the odds of her having a broken hip were extremely high if not guaranteed. And that would not be good. And I don’t mean from the mere physical implications. A bullet wound was something to be flaunted. Even a broken shoulder had a barroom brawl kind of air about it. But a hip? That was not glamorous at all and would not play well in the local gossip mill at the DQ. Old people broke hips and she was definitely not old. She was going to be absolutely furious. That thought made me smile. Better furious than dead. “Just be still, Mother, you’re going to be okay.”