House on the Wrong Side of the Tracks, page 20
“You’re going to have to take it off, Kristy.”
She struggles to unzip it, but the zipper seems stuck. The truck is mere yards away when the zipper lets go and she falls in a heap beside me, half buried in the snow. This may be the first time she’s ever regretted wearing such a skimpy t-shirt. I grab her arm and pull it and the chain out of the jacket’s sleeve, help her up, and take her hand. “Okay now, up the bank.”
“But you said we’d be safe on this side of the fence,” she complains.
“I might have been wrong about that,” I say. “He can climb the fence, too.”
“I don’t think I can go any further.”
“You have to, Kristy. You can...”
At that moment, the engine roars again and the truck hurtles into the fence. The wire screams as the truck pushes into it. It stretches but holds. Kristy shrieks. Maybe I do too. He backs away as if getting ready to take another run at it. In this cold, the wire is brittle. I’m surprised it held this time. I doubt it will withstand a second hit. At best, he’ll get out and chase us. And he might be able to drive right up and over the tracks.
“Kristy, he’s going to make it through. He’ll run us down. Come on!” We definitely need more distance between us before I’ll feel safe enough to slow down.
“He must be really mad,” Kristy says.
“Yeah. Really,” I agree.
The earthworks, while not high, are very steep. We scramble up on all fours onto to the train tracks. Just like in Dogpatch, a street runs parallel to the fence, but unlike Dogpatch, there are inhabited houses on the far side of it. We half run, half slide down the embankment to the fence, and make it over without catching any clothes or body parts on the wire just before we hear the truck engine roar again. There’s a screeching sound, then zing! as the wires break. More growling engine noise and the front end of the truck pops into view on the earthworks. Another roar. The truck leaps up onto the tracks.
“I don’t believe it,” I mutter, “how did he manage that?” As astonishing as it is that he not only broke through the fence, but also made it up onto the tracks, now it seems he’s unable to go farther. He’s spinning the wheels, blasting gravel and snow out behind, then stops. The truck is quiet. Or as quiet as an idling diesel can be.
“He’s getting out!” Kristy shrieks.
The truck door swings open. BBB slides out and starts down the embankment toward us. He can’t toss us into the truck, not with it stuck up on the tracks a hundred feet away and on the other side of the fence. What does he think he’ll accomplish if he catches up with us? Neither of us wants to hang around to find out. We run.
People have come out of their houses to investigate the noise. The nearest man hurries to us and asks, “What’s going on?”
“He had us locked up,” I say. “That man that’s chasing us had us locked up!”
“Oh, my God! Okay, my wife’s calling the cops. You’d better come in,” he says. He turns and yells to the other bystanders, “The cops are coming. Tell them we have those women they’ve been looking for.”
As he herds us up the steps and in the door, we hear sirens in the distance. A woman joins us, and says, “You must be freezing! I’ll be right back.” She scurries away down the hall, returns with a blanket and a pair of slippers. She drops the slippers at Kristy’s feet and as she wraps the blanket around her, says, “Put these on.”
Only now do I realize Kristy is missing a boot. “What happened to your other boot?” I ask.
“Lost it in the snow. I hope I can find it. These are my faves.”
She kept going without complaint, even minus a boot, and after the ordeal she’s been through, she’s worried about a boot. I tear up, and even though I’m not a hugger, I give her a squeeze.
When I release her, Kristy turns to the woman and says, “Thank you.” Now her teeth begin to chatter.
“I’m Emma, and that’s my husband, Brian,” she says.
“Don’t worry,” Brian says, “if that bastard makes it this far before the cops come, he’s not going to get by me.” He lifts the baseball bat from beside the door as if to punctuate his words.
Kristy and I introduce ourselves and follow her to the front room.
“I didn’t hear a thing,” Emma tells us. “We were downstairs watching a movie. Brian thought he heard someone with car trouble and went to take a look.”
“He’s got car trouble, all right,” Brian says, and checks his watch. “The 8:10 to Calgary will be coming along PDQ. That gives him, oh, about five minutes to get his truck off the tracks.”
“I don’t think he can do it in time,” I say.
“I don’t think so either,” Brian agrees, and goes to the front window to look out. Kristy, Emma and I join him.
Sirens intensify as RCMP cruisers converge on the house. Beer Belly Boy has just reached the fence when he stops and scans the cruisers coming this way, blue and red lights flashing, as well as the growing number of bystanders. He turns and scrambles back to his truck.
“He doesn’t know about the train,” I say.
“He’s going to find out pretty quick,” Brian says, and points at a single headlight on the tracks to the east. “Right on schedule.”
It’s coming fast. Now blasts from the train whistle join the sirens.
The engine roars. The truck rocks back, then forward, then back, but can’t make it all the way up onto the earthworks or back down, either.
“Must be high centered,” Brian says. “The tracks aren’t made for cross traffic. Dumb thing to try. If he doesn’t bail now, he’s not going to make it.”
As if he heard what Brian said, BBB jumps out and takes long, leaping strides down the earthworks, running for the fence as best he can in the deep snow. The train whistle is one solid blast now. Its wheels, locked in a futile attempt to stop, screech along the rails, sending out cascades of sparks that live on the snow for a heartbeat before disappearing. The locomotive smashes into the truck, shearing it in half. The engine compartment and most of the cab is in jagged pieces, propelled through the air along the right of way. The hood catches the fleeing man. His head flies off in a spray of blood before disappearing under the snow. His headless body stands for a fraction of a second before collapsing. The train continues down the tracks, slowing and finally coming to a stop a hundred yards farther on.
“Oh, my God!” Emma exclaims.
As much as I think it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy, this is one of those visions that will haunt me for a long time.
Kristy says, “You know, he would’ve been better off running the other way.”
Chapter 20
Mid-morning Christmas Eve. Newton, still in his zip-up fleece sleepers, is busy moving all the Tupperware out of the drawer and onto the floor. Kristy, Jim, my mother Marie, Mom’s husband Reggie, and I linger around the island, enjoying after breakfast coffee and Bailey’s while planning our day.
“I hope you took the turkey out of the freezer yesterday, Lindy. How big is it? I think we should get it in the oven pretty quick.”
“It’s a fresh turkey the Hutterites delivered yesterday, Mom. I don’t know for sure how big it is. Probably at least twenty pounds. Big enough to have lots of leftovers. Red’s on top of it. Relax.”
I hear a vehicle in my driveway. I get up, and careful to step around various lids and containers, go to look out the window. “Huh! It’s K.C.,” I say, and return to my seat.
“Thought he wasn’t coming back until after the New Year,” Jim says.
“That’s what I thought.” I mentally add, maybe not even then.
“So, better late than never?” Kristy asks. “I still think he’s an asshole. Even if the cops didn’t find him right away, he couldn’t miss the news about you being kidnapped. He should have been back here before now. I don’t even want to see him.”
“Come on, sweetie,” Jim says, “at least he’s home for Christmas. Maybe he’s got a good explanation for why he left when he did.”
“What possible explanation would that be, Jim?” Mom asks. She and Reggie have been here since I was reported missing. They’re staying until after Christmas, when they will head for Mexico in their motorhome.
Jim’s only reply is a shrug.
Kristy says, “Maybe he heard the insurance company is settling the claim for the barn fire and will be sending Lindy a nice fat check.”
“That’s harsh, sweetie,” Jim says.
I have to admit that’s the first thing that popped into my mind, but then, he couldn’t know about it. Or could he?
“Not harsh enough,” Kristy insists.
The door swings open, and with a rush of cold air, K.C. steps into the kitchen. When he sees it’s not just me here, a flicker of annoyance crosses his face. In a second, it’s replaced with a smile.
“Hey, hello everyone,” he says. “Marie. Reggie. Thought that must be your new Winnebago in the driveway. When did you guys get here?”
“We came as soon as we were notified that Lindy was missing, because we care about her,” Mom replies.
“You know, I didn’t find out she was missing until she was already home,” K.C. says. He comes to where I’m sitting, leans in to plant a quick kiss on my temple, and asks, “Newt’s here again?”
“Trina packed up and left with the bikers when Mark got arrested,” I tell him. “No idea where she went or when she’s coming back. I share babysitting with Red and Stu.”
“Oh, okay,” K.C. says. “Good. There’s still coffee.” He gets a mug out of the cupboard.
“I reckon there’s things I need to take care of out in the bus,” Reggie says, and gets up. “Coming, darlin’?”
Mom frowns, then says, “I guess so.” She gets up, puts her mug in the dishwasher, gives me a knowing look, and follows him outside.
“Um, Kristy, isn’t it time for your shift in the Bistro?” Jim asks. “I wouldn’t mind a cinnamon bun.”
“No, Jim, it’s not time for my shift, as you very well know, and I’m not leaving,” Kristy replies. She turns to K.C. and says, “I’m as pissed at you as Lindy is, K.C.! You buggered off and left it to everyone else to search for me? If you hadn’t of done that, you’d of been here, Mark wouldn’t have grabbed Lindy and you would’ve gone to Dogpatch with her and rescued me. It’s because of you we went through all that... all that...” She chokes up and is unable to complete her thought.
“I’m sorry, Kristy. I really am,” he assures her. “But some good came out of it, right? Otherwise, no one would’ve known that the killer’s wife was his partner. Or about Mark’s involvement. And if Mark cuts a deal—flips on Russ—maybe gives them all the info about his finances so they can seize the cash even better.”
“What?! We were abused and terrorized, but it’s okay because some good came out of it?” Kristy sputters.
“It’s over, sweetie. You’re okay. Everyone’s okay,” Jim says, and takes her hand. He looks at K.C. and says, “I think you better quit before you dig yourself into a deeper hole, buddy.”
“Kristy, I said I’m sorry,” K.C. says. “I was wrong to go. I realize that now. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Nothing! Not a damn thing! I don’t want nothing to do with you until Lindy forgives you. Maybe not even then.” Kristy abruptly stands and says, “On second thought, Jim, let’s go get a cinnamon bun. I can’t stand being near him.” She heads for the door without waiting to see if Jim is following.
Jim looks at me, shrugs, gets up and says, “Okay, guys, She Who Must Be Obeyed has spoken.” He leaves, closing the door behind him.
“She Who Must Be Obeyed?” K.C. chuckles. “That’s a good one. I think it applies to you more than to Kristy.”
“It’s not original,” I snarl. If he wanted my forgiveness, he’s off to a bad start.
“I’m sorry, babe,” K.C. says. “I, er, I mean, can you forgive me? I know I shouldn’t have gone. It was just that everything was in such a turmoil around here, I thought maybe one less person in the mix... and there was nothing for me to do, not really. Not with the school horses gone, along with all our tack. The boys and Stu can easily look after the stock here and at the Rocking R, and you don’t need me to run the Bistro, so I just thought it made sense.”
“Sure. And tell me, where were you staying?”
“Well, you know, I stayed with my kids.”
“You mean with your ex.”
“I, um, yeah. She’s going through a rough time right now, so it was good for me to be there, you know, to help with the boys.”
“A rough time?”
“Her husband left her and she’s not coping. She’s not strong like you are, Lindy. I knew you could manage without me, but she’s barely getting out of bed. Didn’t even have the Christmas tree up. I had to get the kids off to school, get meals ready, all stuff she couldn’t do.”
“Her husband? How did she remarry without giving you a divorce?”
“Well, not her actual, legal husband. The guy she was living with.” He looks away and then back, continuing, “I was only there for the kids. That’s all it was. I didn’t sleep with her, if that’s what you’re thinking. Honest. I wouldn’t do that. It’s you I love.”
“Yeah. You love me so much you bugger off without a word.”
“I didn’t plan to stay. I just went to drop off the Christmas presents, and that’s when I found out how bad things were. I phoned and left you a message.”
“And it’s okay because you left a message? You called when you knew I wouldn’t be in my office so that you wouldn’t have to talk to me.”
“No, I—”
“You took the coward’s way out. You knew I wouldn’t have accepted your lame excuses for why you had to be away for weeks. Bad enough any time, but over Christmas and New Year’s? And when I’m already dealing with the fire, and my best friend missing? You didn’t think I could use some emotional support?”
“I know. It was just better not to make an issue of it, I figured. Not with everything, like you say, so... Anyway, I’m sorry, and I’m back now.”
“Um hmm.” I study his face. He looks sincere. He reaches across to stroke my arm and smiles again. He seems to take my silence as acceptance, gets up and comes to put his arms around me. He strokes my hair and says, “I love you, Lindy. I understand why you’re mad. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness.”
I’d like to believe him. I want to believe him. Then I remember all those phone calls over the past couple of months and how easily he can lie. I can’t believe this was a spur of the moment thing.
He releases me and says, “By the way, any movement on the insurance claim?”
And there it is. The real reason he’s here.
“Yes. The official cause on the report was accidental, believed electrical. The old microwave shorted out.”
“Oh, great! So, we’re in the clear.”
“Yes. The adjuster dropped off a bunch of forms to list contents on. I’ll give you some for your tack. You need to include the values. He said to get a quote from a tack shop for that.”
“Is there a limit?”
“Yes, but I think it’s enough.”
There’s a shriek from Newt. I jump up and go to him. He’s pushed the drawer in and got his finger stuck. I pull his weight off the drawer and pick him up. There’s a nasty dent in his finger that will leave a bruise. I cuddle him and kiss finger and his tears. K.C. barely notices. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head.
“Here, sweetie, you’re okay now,” I say to Newt, “Let’s get Gaff.” I carry him to the box of toys in the corner, set him down on the floor, and together we dig through to pull out the rubber giraffe. Newt promptly starts chewing on it and has forgotten about his finger.
“I’ll get started on my list as soon as I bring my stuff in,” K.C. says. “I already have most of it written down. I’ll have to go over it again to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.” For the first time since he got here, he looks genuinely happy as he heads for the door. He stops and turns back to ask, “How soon do you think I’ll get a check?”
“No idea,” I reply. We got together just when K.C. was losing his place in Katawasis Lake. He had no prospects and no other place to go. Was Wacasko-Wâti the real attraction?
“K.C., wait,” I say.
He turns to face me and asks, “What?”
“You know you could’ve just phoned me to find out the status of the insurance claim. Don’t worry, I won’t cheat you out of your share.”
“I didn’t think—”
“There will be documents to be signed before any checks come. If you get your list back to me, I’ll take it from here. Leave your ex’s phone number. I’ll call you when there’s something for you to sign.”
“My ex? Well, um, her phone number? Don’t you have it?”
“You know I don’t. You’ve always made sure of that. We were planning Christmas without you, and I don’t see a reason for us to change that now. Don’t bother bringing your stuff in. You’re not staying.”
CHRISTMAS ISN’T THE sad event I half expected it to be. I guess K.C.’s right. His ex falls apart along with her marriage, while I’m so strong I’m not even bothered by my relationship ending. Maybe it’s different because we weren’t married, or maybe because it’s been such a long time coming, but I’m not that strong, really, it’s just that I cowboy up. A couple of times throughout the festivities I feel a stab of sadness and wonder where K.C. went, but I quickly push those thoughts out of my head. It helps a lot that I have my people around. Even Felix, who came home when Mark was arrested. He had no plans to be home for Christmas, but seems pretty happy that he is.
