Land of a Hundred Wonders

Not Copacetic

If it’s all the same to you, I’ll drive,” I tell Billy, lifting the truck keys off the hook near the back door. He’s been reteaching me behind Grampa’s back. First time we went out, I was beyond ascared. (Considering what happened to me and my mama and daddy, a vehicle of any sort can feel a lot like a murder weapon. You understand.) But I practiced and practiced on the back roads, and Billy has patience when it comes to me, so I’m not half-bad. The staying on my side of the road part could use a little more work, but my turns are nice and smooth.

Billy’s next to me on the bench seat, holding a box full of Grampa’s jammies, his whittling knife, his Johnny Cash albums, and the bird book with the glossy pictures. I also slapped together a couple of peanut butter and honeys for him.

“Tell me exactly what Miss Jessie said to you on the phone,” Billy says as I back out of the cottage drive, careful to check BOTH mirrors like he taught me.

As much as I hate lying to a Vietnam veteran, the Kid is right. This outlaw business is between her and me. Billy’d never go along with a jailbreak. He’s too law-abiding. I have to ditch him.

“Well,” I say. “Let’s see… oh, that’s right. Miss Jessie asked if you could go over to her place and see if Vern and Teddy need any help with the horses since she’s not sure when she’ll be able to get home.” We’re running down the road next to the lake. Charles Michael Murphy would adore being out on that sleek water today. Casting his rod and reel, spinning Texas tales. “So… ah… I’m gonna drop you at her farm and then I’m gonna run over to see Grampa at the hospital and when we’re done visitin’, I’ll come back to get ya, all right?”

“But-” He cuts off as we pass by Top O’ the Mornin’. A white bag is cartwheeling through the empty lot. The candy-cane window awnings are hanging lifeless. Even the lucky horseshoe looks more crooked. Am I remembering right? Didn’t Clever tell me that Janice and Miss Florida would tend to things while Grampa was in the hospital? Well, if they are, they’re doing a deplorable job.

Seeing the diner abandoned like that is spooking me, and maybe Billy feels that way, too, ’cause the both of us don’t say much ’til I slow down in front of Miss Jessie’s drive-up. Where normally I feel breathless at the sight of all this gorgeousness, the reason I can’t catch air right this minute is because who should be sitting on a stump near the road like a wart on a beauty queen’s face but evil’s own Emissary: Agent. Sneaky Tim Ray Holloway.

“This here’s private property,” he gnarls, when I pull up next to him. “Go away.”

Billy gets out of the truck and stands tall next to this runt. “Miss Jessie sent me to help with the horses.”

“Where’s Jessie at anyways?” Holloway winks up at me. “I’m hungry.”

It’s been bothering me and bothering me why Sneaky Tim Ray would go along with the sheriff’s frame-up of Cooter. True, Holloway is walking the path of the wicked and could be lying about seeing Cooter choke Buster dead over a game of craps just for the kick of it, but… I don’t know. Never known this belly crawler to do somethin’ for nuthin’. Something seems off here. Something isn’t Copacetic: Okay.

Wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute.

I just recalled how Sneaky Tim Ray and Cooter ambushed us in the woods last night, stole that treasure map off us. With Cooter behind bars now for murdering Buster… yes… Sneaky Tim Ray can keep that treasure ALL FOR HIMSELF! Next time he comes hunting for me, he’ll be dripping in sapphires and rubies. Because that’s what the treasure’s GOT to be, never mind the lack of an X on that map. Pirate booty. Not prime tobacco like I first thought.

Billy grinds down the smoking butt Sneaky Tim Ray tosses at his boot, and says syrup slow, the way he does right before he’s about to explode, “Miss Jessie’s keepin’ vigil up at the hospital with Charlie Murphy. He’s had a heart attack.”

“Well, ain’t that too bad,” Sneaky Tim Ray’s lips say, but his eyes say otherwise. “Ya gonna be on your own now, darlin’? Footloose and fancy free?” He laughs and laughs ’til he coughs and coughs.

When Billy bunches his fists, Sneaky Tim Ray, so used to getting pummeled, is alert and harefooted, and already ’bout half gone through the trees.

“Leave him be, Billy. I gotta get to the hospital and you gotta check those horses. Time’s runnin’ out,” I remind him. (As you know, I’m lying. Right after I leave here, I’m heading for the sheriff station to bust out Cooter.)

When he doesn’t respond, I shout, “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Billy answers, finally dragging his feet back to me.

“Love,” I say, taking hold of his hand when he passes it through the window.

“Love who?”

“You, Billy Brown. Y-O-U. And not the same way I love Grampa. That is not a joke, by the way, just in case you thought it was.”

“I know the way you mean,” he says with a lot of confidence. Boy, does he ever seem different! Usually after an encounter such as the one he just had with Sneaky Tim Ray, Billy’s temper would be choking the reasonable outta him. But he seems hardly riled at all. Maybe it’s the scoop after scoop of sweet lovin’ I gave him last night. Maybe all that his Vietnam-bombed nerves needed was a little of that homegrown sugar. (We did NOT pound the snow possum, if that’s what you’re wondering. The both of us agreed that we wouldn’t break out his wedding tackle ’til we’re on our honeymoon.)

“Ya better git,” Billy says, planting a kiss on my forehead with those extra-fine lips a his. “Give my love to Grampa. Drive slow and keep a good lookout. There’s things happenin’ around here that’re makin’ my stomach feel like it’s tangled up in barbwire. Ya know what I mean?”

My stomach is feeling jumbled as well. And yes, I do know what that means. The Importance of Perception in Meticulous Investigation: Gut Instincts:Follow that feeling in the pit of your stomach. Many mysteries are solved by a reporter who followed their gut hunches.