Candace picked at a basket of chicken fingers, Texas toast, and peppered cream gravy. We sat on the same side of the booth (sure to fuel gossip) and when I pushed my food away, Candace took my hand. “I expected you to have more of an appetite, Jordy.” She smiled. “Sorry, I just-” “Hey, Mr. Poteet. How you?” One of the high-school boys who I’d helped in the library once in researching a paper passed by, cleaning off the next table. “Fine, Mike. How are you?” “Fair to middlin’.” He finished bussing the table and moved on. “Mr. Poteet,” I said. “Notice I didn’t correct that young man. I’ll just have to get those letters and get Bob Don to give me a little blood for a test. Gretchen had already bloodied him, so maybe I should have just asked him for some then.” “Don’t sound bitter. We’re going to find out the truth.” I slapped my head. “God, I haven’t called Sister. I haven’t told them where I am.” Candace fished a quarter from her purse. “Take my advice, you’re in no shape to chat with them right now. Let me.” I did. She came back from the pay phone with a faint smile. “Your nephew is holding down the fort. I made up a story that we had to stay late at the library to catch up on work from being closed.” “Thanks.” I squeezed her hands and she squeezed back. I looked down at the ruins of my hamburger. “I don’t have much stomach for this. Let’s go.” We made a quick stop at Candace’s for her to change into a dark sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. I was already in a chambray shirt, jeans, and boots, so I figured I was camouflaged enough. She came back to the truck quickly, with a heavy dark flashlight in her hand. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. I was glad she was being the brains; mine felt too fried. She modeled her black sneakers for me. They were expensive looking and I’m sure would make Candace look like a badass on the aerobics floor. “Aren’t they cute?” she said. “I got ’em for the ladies’ soccer league over in Bavary.” “Charming,” I murmured. “Just what every aspiring Nancy Drew needs.” She huffed and handed me an old dark windbreaker and an Astros baseball cap, dark navy with an orange A stitched in the middle.
“Cover up that blond hair of yours, smarty.” I bowed and pulled the cap low on my head. The drive out to the farm-to-market road that eventually curved away from Mirabeau and into the east side of Bavary was brief and uneventful. The night hung above us, heavy with clouds.
The moon peeked through occasionally, like a flirtatious girl. I could hardly see any stars and I wanted to. My daddy had always told me wishes on stars were the best kind to make. I parked the Blazer far off the road, on the side opposite the Blalock property. We shut the door softly, both of us suddenly aware of how far sound travelled in the hush of night. Crickets chirped busily, as though gossiping about our errand. The air felt cool; the heat of spring had temporarily fled. I shivered in the navy windbreaker, walked around to the passenger side of the Blazer, and hugged Candace close. “We’ll have to be very quiet,” I told her. “No talking. Let me have the flashlight and stick close to me.” She nodded and took my hand. Her palm felt good against mine. We dashed across a weed-eaten field, across the farm-to-market road, and then began our careers as trespassers. We crept into the deepening gloom of the overgrowth. I kept the spot of light moving low on the ground. Shadows blurred together as trees grew closer. In this part of Texas we have trees called lost pines, and there were a lot of them to be found in these woods. They’re called lost because you have to get farther east, toward Arkansas and Louisiana to hit real heavy Texas pine forests. These pines had gotten separated from their eastern brothers and taken root here. The idea of wandering trees made me think of the last scene of Macbeth, unluckiest of plays. Thin and soaring, the lost pines bunched around us, forming nature’s own maze. My shoulders kept bumping against their trunks, and I could feel an occasional needle fall against me. We wandered for at least thirty minutes, moving in a widening circle. I didn’t know the legal boundaries of the Blalock property but I was willing to guess that we’d crossed them long ago. We didn’t speak. I kept playing the light across the needle-strewn dirt and Candace kept her fingers dug into my belt, freeing my hands. I played the light a little higher and she saw them before I did, silently guiding my arm back to where I’d shined the light. Fronds of five, poking up in fairly even rows. There were a lot of rows; a lot of money. I bit my lip, thinking. “Those are pot plants!” Candace whispered in my ear.
She disengaged her fingers from my belt. “What should we do now? We’ve got some proof; let’s get the hell out and call Junebug.” “Let me think a second,” I mumbled back. I played the light a little higher, above the fronds, and that’s when I saw it. A small box, fastened to a tree not four feet away from us. My arm lashed out and I grabbed Candace in an iron grip. “Don’t move,” I said in a normal tone of voice. “Booby trap.” She froze like Lot’s wife. Her arm muscles bunched and tensed under my fingers. Slowly and deliberately, I played the light directly around our feet. About three inches from Candace’s left foot there was a wire. I kept the light on it and squeezed her arm twice. “Jordy-” she hissed. “That’s the trigger, by your foot.
I’ll move first, okay? I’m going to step to your right, then I want you to follow me exactly. Exactly, Candace. Do you understand?” I sensed her nod in the darkness. “You don’t step where I haven’t already stepped. You hit a wire and those boxes blow buckshot in your face. They blow off your head. You understand me?” “Yes.” Her voice was frightened but steady. “Okay. I’m moving now.” I pressed the light down on the ground, shuffling my feet slowly to her right. I put my back to her and she looped fingers in my belt again. Keeping the light tightly focused on the dark earth, I moved forward, away from the wire. Candace stuck to me like ugly on an ape. God only knew how many other wires we might have passed by. I didn’t think we could have made it unawares passing many; no one’s luck was that strong. If they’d strung wires higher than our feet we would have hit them, but from what I’d heard about such traps I didn’t think it likely they were strung that way. We shuffled along for several minutes at an agonizingly slow pace. Every movement made me wonder if hot lead would pepper our bodies. The clouds parted and the moon glanced through, casting a little more light through the arching pines. We’d gotten a fair distance away and I felt Candace sag against me. “Are we clear of them?” she breathed. “I’m not sure. We’ll take it slow for a while longer.” We scraped our shoes along. We hadn’t gone too much farther when Candace gave a gasp and, reaching around me, snapped off the flashlight. I didn’t make a noise and I whirled. Two other lights fanned through the trees, searching, less than thirty feet away. My heart, exercised enough over the course of this unforgettable evening, jumped back into my mouth, where it felt right at home. “Here’s their track!” a course male voice hissed in darkness. His light played along where we’d been dragging our feet, trenching out a nice little path in the forest for homicidal drug dealers to follow. I seized Candace’s arm and ran, tearing through the brush. If we didn’t move, they’d track us easy. I’d rather risk hitting a wire than begging for my life from a pot harvester. Bullets whined above our heads and Candace yelped. I didn’t think she was hit ’cause she started running harder than me. You just don’t know the adrenal surge you get when someone’s shooting at you. I couldn’t imagine the high was any less than what you got from the plants these folks guarded. Another bullet thundered and bark exploded from a trunk a few feet left of my head. I yanked Candace to the right and barreled into the bushes. We ran for several more feet, and then hunkered down. She pressed her face against my back, not wanting to look up. I heard footsteps running along past us, and I kept as still as stone. The moon flirted again, hiding behind one of the long, thready clouds that streaked the night sky. I cursed myself for my stupidity. I should have brought a gun, I shouldn’t have brought Candace, I shouldn’t have come up here myself. My own stubbornness might get us killed. Candace’s fingers twined with mine in the silence and the darkness. We crouched there in the bushes, letting minutes pass. I heard footsteps coming back along the forest floor, and I risked a peek through the foliage. I saw a dark form striding along, a shotgun nestled under one arm. Faint moonlight gave a profile I knew. Hair pulled back, high cheekbones, confident body.
The eyes I couldn’t see, but I had looked into them enough to know they were intelligent and catlike. Ruth Wills. I held my breath as she passed within ten feet of us. Candace kept her eyes buried in the side of her arm. Ruth went by and I heard a man’s voice, unfamiliar and tinged with a Spanish accent, call to her in the distance. I didn’t hear her answer. I hunkered back down and counted to two hundred. I wasn’t sure it was enough, but I wanted the hell out of there. Slowly, Candace and I crept along the forest floor, not using the flashlight, stopping in the pitch blackness and waiting for the moon to be kind and dimly light our way. Eventually the forest spat us out on a stretch of the farm-to-market road. I got my bearings and figured we were about a mile from the car. We hiked back, keeping a ways off the road, without flash-light. One pickup passed and we hid in a ditch, waiting for the truck to disgorge Jamaicans with Uzis. The truck whizzed past, only tossing out a Clint Black tune from a cranked radio. We made it back to the Blazer. The tires weren’t slashed and no one lay in wait for us. We got in the car, I started the engine with a minimum of noise and, keeping the lights out, shot down the road. “God in Heaven!” Candace yelled at the top of her lungs. Apparently I hadn’t heard her entire decibel range. “We could have gotten killed!
Jesus Christ, Jordy!” “Okay, so now we have proof,” I said placatingly. “Assuming they don’t torch the crop and clear out because they think someone’s onto them. They might’ve thought we were just deer.” “Deer don’t drag their feet for half an acre, babe. They saw our tracks,” she fumed. “Okay. Here’s the plan. I’ll drop you at home, and you go straight to bed. I will go and call Junebug and-” “No, Jordy, here’s the plan. We go straight to the police station, right this minute. And we tell Junebug everything, damn it! Everything!” I, unfortunately for Candace, still had control of the steering wheel. I pulled up a few minutes later in front of her house. “To the station!” she barked.
