Hideaway

Chapter Six

The smoky aroma of sausage and onions permeated the ranch kitchen and mingled with the chatter of the boys around the extensive breakfast table. Cook knew how to make Saturdays special with a big spread of food.

Dane ate quietly, watching and listening. If Willy and Blaze had any idea what Austin’s visit was about, they didn’t let on as they joked and laughed with the rest.

No way could any of them have sneaked off the property in the wee morning hours. Dane would have known.

Wouldn’t he?

He had good kids. Austin Barlow enjoyed reminding him of that solitary incident when a problem child had slipped through the screening process for the ranch, but nothing like it had happened since.

Seventeen-year-old Jinx leaned toward Dane, his red hair sticking out in fifteen directions. “So what’d he want?”

Dane sipped his coffee. “What did who want?”

“Couldn’t’ve been good,” Willy said from the other end of the table. “The mayor never drives all the way out here just to visit. Notice he didn’t just take his boat across, like the others do. He drove all the way around.”

Dane speared another sausage link as the platter passed by. “Our local vandal is up to more of his activities.”

Jinx put down his fork. Willy rested his elbows on the table. One by one the boys fell silent.

“How would Austin know it’s a him?” Cook demanded. “Could be a her.”

“Anyway,” Dane said, “a boat burned at the new dock. The fire apparently started sometime last night or early this morning.”

Surprise registered on all faces. Tyler and James glanced across the table at Blaze.

“You have a local vandal?” Blaze asked. “Like this is a normal thing?”

“It’s happened before. Dane got his tires slashed last year, and now it seems to be escalating,” Cook said. “We’re right uptown with the big boys. Anybody get hurt, Dane?”

“Austin said no.”

Cook grabbed the empty pancake platter and carried it to the stove for a refill. “Not sure I believe anything that blowhard would say,” he muttered, breaking a house rule against name-calling. Long strands of gray hair fell loose over his right ear, baring his shiny scalp. “You’re the one who pushed so hard to get that dock approved, Dane. So why’d he come running to you soon as something happened?”

“Don’t know.”

“He expect you to know something about the vandalism? Or may he just wanted to gloat a little. He never wanted that dock. Whose boat is it? Belong to anybody we know?”

“He didn’t say.”

“He thinks one of us did it,” Willy said.

“He does, doesn’t he?” Jinx blinked sleepily, his bright-red hair reflecting itself in the freckles that covered his face like an uneven tan. He’d been up late last night playing chess with Cook after chores and homework.

Jinx, the “big brother” of the family, would be graduating from high school with honors in a few weeks. He took it personally when someone criticized his foster brothers.

“Austin ought to know better,” Cook said.

“He wants to blame us,” Jinx said.

Willy tugged one of Blaze’s dreadlocks. “Bet he thinks it’s you, Dr. Doolittle.”

Blaze leaned away and shoveled potatoes onto his fork. “Blaze is my name, blazing’s my game.”

“This isn’t something to joke about,” Dane warned. “And there’s more. Mrs. Potts found her cat shot dead on her front porch this morning.”

The kids stopped eating. Blaze displayed an unappealing glimpse of his breakfast.

“Close your mouth, please, Blaze,” Dane said.

Blaze swallowed. “Somebody killed her cat?”

“That’s what the mayor said.”

A storm gathered in Blaze’s eyes.

“Bet it was Danny Short,” Willy said. “He’d do it. Danny’s such a jerk.”

“Watch the names,” Dane warned.

“He’s always picking on the littler kids at school,” Jinx said. “And just about everybody’s littler than he is. He calls Blaze a—”

“He don’t call me anything I haven’t been called before,” Blaze said. “Let him talk.”

“If Dr. Doolittle didn’t wear pigtails, Danny wouldn’t pick on him,” Willy said.

“They’re not pigtails, and he’d do it anyway,” Blaze said. “All he sees is my color.”

“Austin has no real reason to blame any of us,” Dane said. “We’ll just have to stay squeaky-clean.”

“I don’t know how we can get any squeakier,” Jinx grumbled.

Blaze pushed his plate back. “I need to go check on Starface. She was limping this morning.”

Dane nodded and watched him leave.

As soon as the mudroom door closed, Willy said, “Blaze wouldn’t do anything like that, Dane.”

“I know.”

“Guess somebody started the fire, though. And somebody killed that lady’s cat.”

Dane nodded. He hoped they caught the culprit quickly, because until the town had someone else to blame, his kids would take the brunt of it.

“I’d like to see Barlow try to prove anything,” Cook muttered.

Dane picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip. “Maybe we should do a little sleuthing ourselves.”

By the time Cheyenne finished reading the final page of Susan’s medical record her whole body trembled and she felt sick to her stomach. Leaning away from the call-room desk, she rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms over her head.

“Hey, there, pal,” came a comforting voice from the corridor. Ardis hovered in the open doorway, looking fresh and well rested in her green scrubs. Her curly salt-and-pepper hair looked damp.

“Hey.” Cheyenne gestured for her to come in. “Raining?”

“Haven’t you heard the thunder? What’s up?” Ardis entered the untidy room and perched on the side of the unmade bed. “You should’ve been gone hours ago.”

Cheyenne held up the legal request for medical records.

Ardis tilted her head backward so she could read the print through her bifocals. Her lips moved silently, then her eyebrows lowered. “You’re kidding.”

Cheyenne shook her head.

“Your brother-in-law hired an attorney? He’s going to sue?”

“Maybe they’re going after the people who hit Susan,” Cheyenne said. “I don’t know.”

“When they read the report, they won’t come after you, that’s for sure. You did everything right. You did far more than most—”

“What I did was prescribe a controlled substance for her. She wasn’t supposed to be driving.”

“I’m the one who administered the drug, and I heard you tell her not to drive. You told her more than once, and so did I.”

Cheyenne returned the request form to the desk. “But she was under the influence of a tranquilizer when we told her.”

“She also received her discharge sheet, which she signed. It clearly stated that she was not to drive under the influence.”

“Again,” Cheyenne said, “she signed that sheet after you administered the IV dose. And I didn’t document as completely as I ordinarily would have, because she was my sister. I had…other things on my mind.”

“I don’t know what she was doing behind that wheel, but she—”

“Ardis, you’re a Christian. Would you tell me how someone who claims to be a good servant of God could defraud the government and a spouse?”

A soft whisper of air escaped Ardis’s lips as they parted. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Okay, that had sounded pretty stupid. “I’m sorry.” Cheyenne closed the folder that held the medical records. “Forget I said anything.”

“You’re talking about your brother-in-law?”

It was tempting to spill what she knew—that Susan’s initial visit the day of her death had been because of Kirk.

“Fraud, huh?” Ardis murmured.

“It’s…probably not something we should even be discussing.”

“Okay, you’re right. If the unthinkable does happen, and Kirk decides to slap a suit on you, then I could be forced to tell what I know on the witness stand. So don’t tell me anything.”

“Fine.”

“But let me tell you something.” Ardis leaned forward and touched Cheyenne’s hand. “Don’t let Kirk’s behavior affect your impression of Christ.”

“I don’t have any impression of—”

“People attend church for different reasons. Some are earnestly seeking God, even if they haven’t found Him yet. Others are making business contacts, improving social skills, looking for entertainment or warm fuzzies. Church attendance doesn’t necessarily make nicer people with high moral standards.”

“Good sermon, Ardis.”

“I haven’t even warmed up.”

Cheyenne forced a smile.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been relieved of duty.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Cheyenne turned in her chair and studied Ardis’s face. Obviously, this wasn’t news.

“Medical leave isn’t the same thing,” Ardis said.

Cheyenne straightened. “You knew about this?”

“Kind of hard to miss the schedule change for two months. Dr. Brillhart explained it to me.”

Cheyenne felt as if she’d been slapped. “Jim told you? Who else did he tell, the whole ER staff?”

“Calm down, I think he just told me.”

“You think? How do you—”

“Would you relax for a minute?” Ardis reached into the pocket of her scrubs. “Jim had a reason to tell me. In the first place, he knew we were friends, but he also knew I had just the thing you need right now.” She pulled out a key on a plastic ring shaped like a daisy.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve told you about our place on Table Rock Lake, haven’t I?”

“Barely.”

“It’s a farm near the Missouri-Arkansas border. It’s on sixty-five acres, about a mile drive from this tiny town called Hideaway. Closer by boat. Isn’t that the perfect place to spend some downtime?”

“On a farm? Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Ardis swung the key back and forth. “Just take it and listen to me, Chey. The place is in the middle of nowhere. It belonged to my husband’s aunt before she died. We were down there last year, but we haven’t had a chance to get back. It needs a woman’s touch, but I know you helped Susan some when she was starting her business.”

“I know how to paint under supervision. That’s it.” But Cheyenne took the key.

“There’s some basic furniture,” Ardis continued, “and I could call and have the electricity turned on if you want. I’m not promising it would be connected over the weekend, but definitely by Monday. It’s on well water, and the pump works. The heat is electric. There’s no telephone, no television.”

“You’re saying I should leave Columbia.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Ardis sat back, eyes hiding behind lenses that reflected the overhead light. “You’ve buried yourself here too long, even before the accident. What with the nightmares, you need a complete change of scene. Hideaway would be quite a change.”

Cheyenne couldn’t believe she was actually considering it.

“You’re in a rut here,” Ardis continued. “And the rut keeps getting deeper, especially now. Down at our place, there’s a dock on the water just right for fishing. You could get involved in some of the community activities, or you could hole up and read, listen to audio books, take a trip or two into Branson. The drive’s about forty minutes over winding roads. You could be in Springfield in about an hour and a half, maybe less if they’ve got the new road completed.”

Cheyenne studied the faded green-and-yellow plastic key chain, turned it over in her hand. “This place is close to town?”

“If you want to call Hideaway a town. There’s a general store open all year long, and I heard they’ve got a nice new boat dock, which should bring in some tourist trade. There’s a mechanic and a café, a school and a beautiful little bed-and-breakfast down by the water.” Ardis paused, fingers linked around her knees. “What do you think?”

The thought appealed. Very much. Cheyenne had to admit that the name “Hideaway” drew her. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to hide away.

Dane found Blaze sitting on the front porch steps, tossing pebbles over the wooden railing.

Blaze looked up at him. “Somebody’s wicked around here.”

Dane sat beside him. “That kind of thing has happened before.”

“They killed an animal before?”

“No. They’ve broken into the general store, damaged a few vegetables, knocked some boxes off the shelves.”

“When did that happen?”

“Couple years ago.”

“Anything else?”

“A tire slashed on our pickup, a hole in the canoe, maybe a year ago.”

“You make somebody mad?”

“Maybe a few people,” Dane said.

“Just because you had this ranch with all us delinquents?”

“You aren’t delinquents.”

“The mayor thinks so.”

“How did you guess?”

“Not hard, once you learn to read the signs. You know, like trying to get your ranch hands in trouble.”

“Speaking of reading, has yours progressed lately?” Dane asked.

Blaze tossed another pebble, shaking his head. “We’re learning about the minerals and stuff in science right now. I can look at a rock across the room and tell the teacher all about its composition, but that don’t work. He wants me to write it down.”

Dane selected one of the pebbles Blaze had accumulated for tossing, held it up to the sunlight. “This one’s calcite.”

Blaze picked up two others. “This here’s dolomite, and this one’s chert.”

Dane nodded.

“You show me a globe of the world, and I’ll tell you pretty much every country.”

“Then why are you flunking geography?”

Blaze tossed another pebble and didn’t reply.

“I know a retired teacher over in Cape Fair who worked with children with learning disabilities.”

Silence again.

“I’d like you to meet with him,” Dane said.

“You don’t think my dad tried all that, over and over again?”

Dane leaned back against the railing, frustrated.

Blaze shook his head. “It’s like my brain puts up this invisible armor every time I try.”

“Then we need to find a way past that armor.”

“So the mayor thinks I blazed the boat and killed the cat?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“You changed it first. We were talking about the fire, remember? About how the mayor thinks I did it. I think he called me the black kid with the stupid mop-head hairdo.”

Dane winced. There was nothing wrong with Blaze’s hearing. “I think you made a poor choice for a nickname.”

“You know what’s weird? Ramsay Barlow and I are buddies at school. I guess his daddy don’t like it.”

“You let me handle his daddy.”

Cheyenne wrote a final check, signed it, then slid it into the envelope addressed to the local rescue mission. It was her pet project—and the reason she still lived on the third floor of an apartment building without an elevator, still drove a four-year-old Lumina sedan.

All her bills were paid up for the next three months. The mission would be supplied with food. She had ample money in her debit card account.

Everything would be okay.

Then why did she feel so frightened?

She picked up the telephone and hit speed dial. She got a recording.

“Hello, Mom and Dad? It’s Chey. I just wanted to let you know I won’t be at my apartment for a few weeks.” Could she do this? Just take off? “I’ll call you later with a contact number, in case you need me for anything. I love you.”

As she hung up, she saw that her hand was shaking.

Maybe she did need this time off.

The nightmares had haunted her sleep for so long, she had trouble closing her eyes at night. She seldom even slept here anymore, preferring the cramped quarters of the call room, with the overhead speakers blaring every so often, just to remind her she wasn’t alone.

Strange that this apartment triggered the dreams more often than the actual place where Susan had died. But Susan’s signature was stamped all over this place—her special, decorative touches, her color schemes with those just right shades, the deep violet-blue of tanzanite, alexandrite, rose quartz. Susan’s favorite colors. And Susan had stenciled the wisteria around Cheyenne’s living room doorway.

Cheyenne pulled a suitcase from the closet in the spare bedroom. Ardis was right. It was time to escape the memories before they took over completely.

Chapter Seven

On Sunday night Dane Gideon wandered through the upstairs hallway of his sprawling house. He overheard Tyler and Jinx arguing about synonyms versus antonyms through the closed door of the bedroom they shared at the end of the hallway. Tyler had a test tomorrow, and Jinx was helping him study.

Dane knocked softly. “Keep it down in there, guys. Willy and Jason have to get up early to milk.”

He heard a boyish chuckle, then silence. Good, the atmosphere around here was calming a little. The boys had been upset all weekend about the vandalism Friday night, and especially about the fact that some of the townsfolk showed signs of blaming Blaze for the whole thing.

Dane saw light coming from beneath the door of the room Willy and Blaze shared. He knocked. No answer. He opened and peered inside. Willy lay sacked out on the top bunk with all his clothes on. Blaze’s bed was as pristine as when he’d made it this morning.

Dane switched off the light and closed the door, then went downstairs to check the kitchen.

Empty.

He peered out the window toward the barn. No lights glowed, but that didn’t mean much. Blaze could be sitting there in the dark, talking to a cow or a chicken. The kid had an interesting emotional link with the animals. It was as if humans had let him down, and now he preferred the company of other species.

Dane sometimes felt the same way. Not that he ever resorted to talking to the cows except when it pertained to their milk production. He would never sit in the barn and spill his guts to Gordy.

Blaze was different. The chaos that often seemed to reign in this house—with so many male teenagers clamoring for attention—obviously stressed the kid at times. Up until his father’s death, Gavin Farmer had lived quietly, assisting his dad in the veterinary practice, avoiding extracurricular activities at school. Dane knew he craved solitude.

Switching on the outside floods, Dane picked up a flashlight from the end of the cabinet. If Blaze was in the barn, fine, but he tended to wander from the property. Once, Dane had found him on the island in the middle of the lake, fishing from the cliffs with Red Meyer, an eighty-five-year-old neighbor across the lake who was like a grandfather to the boys. Another time he’d been out on the highway, trying to rescue a dog that had been hit by a car.

Two weeks ago Cook had found Blaze inside the vacant house across the lake. The kid had sworn to Cook that he’d heard crying sounds inside. He had no explanation about what he was doing there in the first place, however. At this ranch, three strikes and the ranch hand was out the door. Blaze had been warned once already.

Kicking Blaze off the ranch was not something Dane wanted to do.

Cheyenne swerved to miss a jagged chunk of rock and hit yet another pothole the size of the Grand Canyon, the latest in a series on this road of Ozark gravel. Her head pounded from the tightness that had crept through all the muscles of her body on her drive from Columbia.

It was a four-hour trip, but she felt as if she had driven halfway across the world, from the bustle of Missouri’s premier university town to the backwaters of the borderland between Missouri and Arkansas—this part of the Ozarks was a whole ’nother country.

“I’m crazy,” she whispered.

Maybe so, but if she stayed in Columbia, she could lose her mind for sure.

Dense forest closed around the road on both sides, blocking out the moonlight. The darkness mocked her. She took a deep breath and tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

In the weeks since Susan’s death, Cheyenne had tried desperately to sidestep emotion. She’d been aware of a deadly canyon somewhere inside her mind, where she stumbled at vulnerable times. Then she felt devoured by the pain.

She knew better than to go there tonight.

Right now she was wishing she’d known better than to come here tonight, especially since there’d be no electricity until tomorrow. But this afternoon, pacing through the beautiful prison walls of memory in her apartment, she could take no more. Better a sleepless night in an old house in the wilderness than another sleepless night surrounded by images of the depth of her loss. And in the morning, perhaps the beauty of the countryside in April would keep her mind away from the dark canyon.

But morning was still hours away. Tree frogs shouted “cree-cree-cree” from the thickets alongside the road, so loud they nearly drowned out the sound of the car’s engine. Now the forest huddled in clumps, the tallest trees converging over the top of the road.

The eeriness of the night intensified Cheyenne’s sense of isolation.

A gate loomed ahead, shiny aluminum panels fastened with a rusty chain and padlock. Ardis had described it perfectly.

Cheyenne turned onto the grassy track and stopped at the gate. She pulled the key chain from the bottom of her purse and opened the door.

The interior light flashed on. Something rustled in the brush barely three feet from her. She slammed the door and locked it.

A raccoon shuffled across the road in the beam of headlights.

Cheyenne slumped against the steering wheel. “It’s okay,” she whispered to herself. “This is still just Missouri. No wolves, no grizzlies, no anacondas.” The biggest danger to humans in this area of the world was other humans. And she hadn’t seen another human being in the past thirty minutes.

Everything would be okay.

“Blaze?” Dane called from the doorway of the milking room. The barn was empty. Dane saw Starface out in the lot, heard the rustle of another animal somewhere in the darkness. Probably Gordy.

They had purchased two sows last week, both heavy with piglets, due to come any day. The flashlight revealed the door to their abode securely fastened.

Stepping to the fence, Dane leaned his elbows against the top rail. “Are you out here, Blaze?”

No answer. He turned off the light for a moment.