Christmas in Coyote County Read online

  “It’s kind of like waiting for a movie that’s not going to start,” she whispered.

  “You never know. It might get more interesting than we want it to.”

  She snickered. “Only if the ship lands in the pasture,” she answered. “Which seems pretty unlikely to me.”

  “I think Maddie called it the mothership,” he corrected.

  Libby rolled her eyes. “Right. I’m not as up on my alien jargon as I ought to be.”

  They sat in companionable silence for...she looked at her watch. Forty minutes. At this rate, the night would just fly by. And when morning came, they would have nothing to show. Except maybe a closer friendship. Appealing as that was, it would hardly save Maddie.

  She shivered in the frosty air and pushed her back tighter against the hay bale. “How about a sandwich?” she suggested.

  “Sure. What do you have?”

  She flicked on the flashlight and dug through the basket, taking out the coffee first. She handed an insulated cup to him. “I’m afraid they’re both pimento cheese. If I’d known you were coming I would have made a peanut butter and peach jam sandwich for you.”

  He laughed and poured the coffee. “How did you remember that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I remember a lot. It was a...a good time in my life.” She handed a sandwich to him.

  Unwrapping her own, she took a bite. Silence settled on them again.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  She jerked at the sudden question. “Just something...something I want to ask you. But you might think it’s too personal.”

  He sighed. “You want to know why I never married.”

  “No...I mean, maybe I would be interested in hearing that, but I don’t think it’s any of my business.”

  “OK, now I’m curious. Ask.”

  She settled back against the hay and took a sip of coffee from the thermos. “Did you come back to Coyote County so you can prove your dad innocent?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Mostly I came back to find out who was responsible for his death.”

  She gasped and slopped the coffee on her jacket, daubing at it with a paper napkin from the basket. “What are you talking about? Your dad fell down the steps behind your house. It was an accident.”

  He shook his head. “That’s what somebody wanted us to think. But I knew right from the start that it was murder...or something close to it.”

  “Do you really believe Sheriff Jones covered up evidence of a murder?”

  Jackson rose and moved towards the window, leaning against the sill with his back turned towards her. “I’ll say that I think he was incompetent at handling the job. I showed him several things that indicated Dad’s fall might not have been an accident. There was an obvious scuffle of some kind at the top of the staircase—the railing was loose and had gouges in it.”

  He sighed. “He wouldn’t have anything to do with what I showed him. But I know there was someone else at our house that afternoon and that might explain how my dad ended up at the bottom of that staircase.”

  She concentrated on his words. He had been so withdrawn those last months before he and his mother left; she had assumed it was grief that made him push everyone, including her, away.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” She leaned back against a bale of hay and hugged her knees to her chest.

  “I wanted to. But I didn’t know who was involved. Dad told me he’d been threatened, had some odd phone calls late at night. He warned me to be careful. After what happened, I didn’t want you or your grandparents to be in any kind of danger.”

  Sharp tears stung her eyes. All this time she had pictured him as self-centered, calling off their relationship and leaving her heartbroken.

  She hesitated before she spoke. “Is that why things turned out the way they did?”

  He angled his face away from her. “Partly. I didn’t feel comfortable being here, and my mom needed to get away.” He cleared his throat. “I should have been more honest with you, Lib. To tell you the truth, I was scared. I just…”

  “Jackson. What—” Her voice trembled.

  “Shhhh! Come here.” His silhouette froze, as he uttered a fierce whisper that cut off her words.

  She slid from her place to join him, now crouched by the outside edge. As her eyes adjusted to the dark outdoors, she saw it. A green glow showed on the road below, moving at a steady pace.

  His hand touched her shoulder, and he whispered, “You stay here.”

  “Just try to make me,” she murmured back.

  “Well, I don’t have time to argue. Stay behind me. And don’t turn on the flashlight.”

  She balked a little at the thought of going down the ladder in the dark, but she’d come this far with her plan. Now was no time to back out.

  Closing her eyes, she descended the ladder as quickly as possible. Her foot slipped on the third rung from the bottom, and Jackson caught her, his arms going around her waist as he swung her down.

  “Are you OK?” he whispered.

  Her stomach quivered at his nearness. His face so close she could feel the warmth from his breath. “Yes. Yes I’m fine.”

  He released his grip and turned, his hand finding hers. “Let’s go.”

  They traveled swiftly around the side of the barn and to the gate that connected to the road. He jiggled the handle, rusted shut. Following his cue, she climbed over it and crept up the road.

  Jackson halted suddenly. “Look at that.”

  It had stopped forty feet ahead of them. Two large hollow eyes, surrounded by an eerie lime glow stared at them. Green antennae-like protrusions showed above the eyes. In a blink, it’s two stick green legs moved the creature to the left, then back again.

  Libby’s hair prickled on her head. “What is...?”

  The figure turned and disappeared as a white glow shone above the treetops to the west. A moment later, the brightness faded into the darkness.

  After a brief silence, Jackson spoke. “Let’s get my truck. Maybe we can find what we were chasing.”

  ****

  As they pulled onto the road, Jackson cut the headlights. He drove slowly in the dark, following the road by the sound of rocks crunching beneath the tires.

  Libby stared ahead, intent to find the creature they had seen. But the closest green they saw was Christmas lights on porches of the homes along the way, left plugged in all night by their owners.

  She broke the silence first. “Any idea what it was?”

  “No, we never got close enough. But the lights we saw in the west were coming from the ground, shining up, not the other way around.”

  She grinned. “So you’re ruling out the mothership?”

  He chuckled. “I guess for now. Unless it’s on the ground waiting for our luminous monster.”

  ****

  At four o’clock in the afternoon the phone rang. Halfway from the barn to the house, Libby broke into a run.

  “Hello?” she gasped.

  “Why are you out of breath?”

  Her heart produced a double-thud at the sound of Jackson’s voice. “I was outside.” She forced herself to breathe calmly. “Is everything OK?”

  “I was just checking to make sure we’re still on for tonight.”

  She smiled. He almost made it sound like a date, this UFO-hunting expedition they’d cooked up. “Sure. I got out a county map and made a ten-mile diameter circle. I figure the lights have to be coming from somewhere in there.”

  “Probably more like five. I’m going to drive over that way in a few minutes. Want to come?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  “I’ll pick you up in about fifteen minutes.”

  ****

  Libby stared at the rapidly-shrinking zone for a UFO invasion on her map. They’d been down three different forestry roads, and now they were headed to Burning Bridge Road.

  “I didn’t realize how many little dead end roads there were back here,” she commented, amazed at how “big” her little r
ural community actually was.

  “More than I like,” he answered. “We don’t have the man power to keep all of them checked regularly.”

  Unlike the forestry roads, Burning Bridge Road was home to the back side of several ranches. The land stretched flat and brown into the distance, most of it neatly fenced, with cattle roaming the perimeters.

  Two miles passed before Jackson slowed at the sight of an old gate collapsed by the road. The fencing on either side was rusted and lying in coiled strands along the ground. Trees had sprouted and grown throughout the pasture, lanky saplings overtaking the field.

  “This is the old Felton ranch,” said Jackson. “The place has been pretty much deserted for years. Guess Rob couldn’t make a go of it.”

  Libby nodded. “I think Mrs. Felton lives in an apartment in town, now. I remember Mr. Felton. He worked at the bank with your dad, didn’t he? And she was my piano teacher for a few years—I guess she gave up teaching music for home health care.”

  Jackson nodded. “He was a clerk until he bought the funeral home. My dad always liked him—said Rob was one of the few who stuck by him when the money went missing. The Feltons sold the funeral home and moved to Tulsa about eight years ago. Mrs. Felton moved back here after he died. About the same time I decided to come home.”

  Past the deserted ranch, they crossed over Burning Creek and pulled into the parking lot of Burning Bridge Cemetery. He stopped the truck under the huge oak tree that shaded the gate.

  He opened the door and spoke before climbing out. “I think we’re about opposite of where we were last night. This is the most likely spot left in your search parameters.” He opened the passenger door of the truck for her.

  Libby followed him through the squeaky iron gate and into the deserted graveyard. Their boots crunched over brown leaves that covered the cold December ground.

  A wintry breeze whispered through a set of wind chimes someone had hung on a leafless tree, sending a soft metal tinkling through the stillness. A shiver darted down Libby’s spine, and she hugged her arms to her chest. A movement just to the right sent her heart spinning.

  A brown flash showed itself for a moment, before disappearing in the brush. She rolled her eyes and suppressed a giggle. Sparky. If that silly goat didn’t learn to stay home, someone was going to mistake him for a deer one hunting season.

  Jackson stopped and squatted down. “Look at this.”

  Libby studied the ground. “Probably backhoe tracks. They bring it in to dig graves.”

  Jackson stood and narrowed his eyes. “These look fairly fresh. I don’t remember there being a funeral over this way recently.”

  She chewed her lip. “I don’t know. This clay soil holds tracks for a long time. With the creek over there, it tends to stay wetter in this area.”

  They followed the trail over a rise and down to a newer area of the cemetery. The signs of the machinery gradually faded as the ground became grassier closer to the creek.

  His eyes scanned the area. “Doesn’t look like they dug up anything.”

  Libby shrugged. “Maybe they just used it to do some repair work on the grounds.”

  They walked among the tombstones and gazed across the shallow water that separated the old Felton ranch from the burial grounds. The remains of a narrow bridge spanned the stream.

  Jackson pointed ahead. “The backhoe crossed the creek.” He pressed the toe of his cowboy boot into a soft depression in the ground and gave a soft whistle. “I wonder what they’re up to over there.”

  She knew his curiosity wouldn’t let him rest. When they climbed back in the truck, he pulled out of the cemetery and turned into the driveway of the abandoned Felton property. Jackson braked and got out of the truck. Libby waited until he climbed the gate to join him. Apparently, he was serious about his intention to check out the place.

  “Somebody’s driven through here, too.” He pointed to the drive beyond the gate. “Tracks in the path.”

  She gazed through the metal bars at the flattened brown grass, tire tracks leading up the wooded drive.

  He jumped off the gate and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Let’s go.”

  “Hold it, there!”

  They both turned to see a large, bearded man stepping out of the forest’s edge by the driveway, just inside the gate. He was clad in boots, jeans, and a leather jacket with a shotgun braced to the side of his protruding belly. “What are you folks doing hanging around my gate?”

  He spit a stream of brown tobacco that splattered on the ground, a temporary pause in his string of statements delivered in a rough, angry tone.

  Fear churned in Libby’s chest, her fingers gripping Jackson’s hand. His arm slid around her shoulders as he gave the man a friendly wave. “Sorry, we were just turning around and decided to get out and stretch our legs a little.”

  Libby could feel the tension running up his arm. Clearly, he didn’t want the man to guess that he was the law.

  The stranger observed them for a few seconds, silently. “Well, you better get on out of here.”

  “We’re on our way,” Jackson answered. He opened the passenger side door and steered her inside the cab.

  She watched as the man began walking back up the driveway, and her breathing returned to normal. Her heart rate slowed once they pulled from the entrance to the main road again.

  She gave a shaky laugh. “He wasn’t very friendly.”

  “I figure he thought we were going to trespass, and he’s got something up there he doesn’t want anyone to see,” Jackson answered.

  “Drugs?” she suggested.

  “Possibly.” He reached over and switched on the radio. Strains of “Deck the Halls” filled the cab.

  She stared at his profile, amazed that he remained so calm after their encounter. “I thought you handled it pretty well. I almost panicked,” she said.

  “Just trying not to appear suspicious,” he told her, his eyes on his rearview mirror. “I think I’ll check out that place a little better. Find out who’s staying there. I figure Mrs. Felton ought to know the answer to that.”

  ****

  The walkway to the front door was littered with bits of paper and soft drink cans. Libby sidestepped a gaping hole in the cement. Next to her, Jackson pressed the doorbell, which seemed to be broken. He raised a fist and rapped against the door.

  “I’m coming,” a frazzled voice called from the other side. The door flung open, and Mrs. Felton’s surprised stare greeted them.

  “Mrs. Felton, I’m Sheriff Carter. I’d like to talk to you a minute.”

  The older woman’s face softened at the sight of Libby. “Oh, sorry. I was on the phone. Come on in, please.”

  The living room was dark and smelled of dusting spray and old newspapers. Libby sat beside Jackson on the sofa, and Mrs. Felton took a seat across from them.

  “What can I help you with, Sheriff?”

  Jackson gave her a friendly smile. “I was driving out on Burning Bridge road and pulled into the driveway of your place out there. I had assumed it was still deserted, but a fellow with a shotgun met me down at the gate. I just wanted to make sure you knew he was there.”

  Mrs. Felton gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, that’s just Larry Allen. He’s sort of a caretaker out there. He’s been doing some work around the place. Nothing for you to worry about, Sheriff.”

  Libby cut her gaze in Jackson’s direction, trying to read his expression. Did he think Mrs. Felton was telling the truth? Not that there was really any reason to doubt her. Minus the somewhat anxious behavior.

  “Do you know if Mr. Allen’s work involves some heavy machinery?” Jackson asked, his tone casual. “I’m just curious because we noticed some strange tracks cutting through the old cemetery.”

  Mrs. Felton shook her head, a confused look seeping into her expression. “He hasn’t mentioned it, but then we don’t speak very often. You see, the ranch was really Rob’s dream, not mine. So I told Mr. Allen he could manage it any way he likes.”

/>   “Right.” Jackson smiled and glanced at Libby. “Well, we better get going. Thanks for your time, Mrs. Felton.”

  The woman saw them to the door, a tight smile stretched across her features. Maybe they came at a bad time, Libby thought as they turned out of the driveway. Or maybe the ranch brought some kind of bad memories back. Because something about Mrs. Felton’s behavior seemed odd—exactly what, Libby couldn’t put her finger on.

  ****

  Libby hurriedly poured coffee into a thermos and packed sandwiches in a small ice chest, along with some water and apples. Jackson had said to be ready by eleven that night, and she was cutting it close.

  Turning back towards the living room, her breath caught in her throat. Beneath the sofa glowed a bright, almost lime green line. She turned the lights back on and stared at the spot. Nothing. Turned them off. Green.

  On her knees, she stuck her hand under furniture. Her fingers grasped a piece of something prickly and long. The rope she’d found in Maddie’s yard. She had teased Zoe with it last evening, letting the cat bat it around the room.

  With the lights off again, the twine glowed green in her palm.

  She grinned as realization dawned. Maddie’s alien had been painted with glow-in-the-dark paint.

  An engine and the sound of crunching gravel caught her ear. Jackson’s truck pulled into the driveway.

  ****

  Jackson grimaced at the rope in his hand. “I knew it was a joke. Probably a couple of kids taking advantage of their Christmas vacation. Out of school for a few days and they’re already bored.” He tossed it onto the counter.

  Libby shook her head. “It’s been going on longer than the school break,” she argued. “But I agree; it doesn’t seem the sort of thing an adult would do. A kid would see it as fun, but it’s a dangerous prank. Maddie could have shot someone.”

  He nodded, shrugging off the heavy denim jacket he was wearing and draping it on the back of a kitchen chair. “Maybe it’s a dog. It could have stood on its hind legs and looked in her window. Probably just curious. That line of green is probably just its collar.”

  She picked up the rope and fingered the shredded ends. “Maybe. Whatever it was, the creature looked odd the way it jumped back and forth like that.”