Carolyn Haines - Wishbones

“Try calling Graf,” she suggested.

“Brilliant.” I placed the call as we sped through the night. His phone rang and rang and rang. Just as it had before I left Costa Rica. Finally it rang through to voice mail and I left another message.

“I’m on my way to Malibu, Graf. I… can’t wait to see you.” I glanced at Tinkie who kept her gaze on the road.

We were away from the city lights, headed into the hills and canyons that were so wild and beautiful. Soon we were on the road to the house Graf and I were borrowing. I’d driven the road plenty before now, but I’d never really realized how isolated everything was. We passed the fire station, all dark for the night. The firemen were inside sleeping, like normal people. We climbed higher, winding around and using switchbacks for some of the steeper inclines. This terrain was called “hills” but in the eyes of a Delta girl, they were mountains, and not the gentle green giants of the Smokies but a more barren, harsher cousin.

“You’ve got to get a place in town, Sarah Booth,” Tinkie said. “This is too far out and the road is dangerous.”

“It’s only temporary. But it is beautiful.”

She made a sharp curve, the tires giving a low squeal. “Beautiful and isolated. This road gives me the willies, and it isn’t even raining. I can imagine when the rains come and the mudslides start and-”

“Give it a rest. Your point is made.”

We pulled into the parking area of Bobby Joe Taylor’s house. My little T-bird rental was there, but no sign of Graf’s vehicle.

“Shit,” I said, opening the door to let Sweetie and Chablis out to take a whiz. After Tinkie’s driving, I needed one myself.

I used my key to the front door and Tinkie and I entered. The house had a stale odor-one that I associated with a place left empty for a while. But Graf had supposedly come home the day before, and his intention was to stay in this house. Or so he’d led me to believe.

“Graf!” I called his name loudly. “Graf!”

There was no response.

We’d brought the dogs in with us-I couldn’t take a repeat of the fire or coyote scenario. Tinkie and I split up. She took the interior and I checked the porch and balcony that ran along the exterior.

While I was checking out the back balcony, I heard Sweetie and Chablis “pack up.” They began barking at someone or something, and my heart lifted with the hope of Graf. By the time I got to the front of the house, though, the dogs had quieted and there was no sign of Graf or anyone else.

When Tinkie and I rejoined in the kitchen, neither of us had found a sign that showed Graf had ever made it back to this house. His bags weren’t here and the house looked exactly as we’d left it.

“Where could he be?” I asked, not even trying to hide my worry.

Tinkie knew I didn’t want to hear the answer, so she wisely said, “Call the sheriff.”

It was a good suggestion, and I did. King wasn’t any happier to be awakened again, but he did take me seriously. “Let’s meet at the set,” he said. “I’ll bring some deputies. We need to find out what happened to Federico and Mr. Milieu from the moment they got off the plane.”

“Thanks, Sheriff King.”

“I’ll meet you as quickly as you can get there. I’ll see if I can find someone who can bring in the whole cast and crew.”

Sweetie Pie and Chablis were exhausted. Although I didn’t want to leave them alone in the house, I also didn’t want to haul them back down the mountain and into town again, where they’d be forced to wait in the car or a dressing room while Tinkie and I investigated.

“Let’s leave them in the house,” Tinkie said.

Although I agreed with her, I had that unsettled sense that I was going to regret my decision.

With Sweetie and Chablis standing in the glass doorway watching us go, Tinkie and I headed back down to the movie set. We hadn’t slept in hours and hours, but adrenaline had kicked in and we were wired.

“I hate this road,” Tinkie said. She’d allowed me to drive only because she had a headache. I kept my mouth shut and my attention on the asphalt. I drove considerably slower than Tinkie, but going downhill, it was hard not to pick up a lot of speed. The Caddy was a larger car than I normally drove, and I was still adjusting when we came to a hairpin curve.

I stomped the brake and my foot went all the way to the floorboard.

“Pump it,” Tinkie said. “I thought the brakes felt a little soft.”

I pumped as hard as I could while still keeping the car on the road. As we nosed downhill, we picked up more speed.

“The brakes are gone.” I spoke quietly. It felt as if my fingers had broken around the steering wheel. My grasp was so tight that I couldn’t let go.

Sawing the wheel back and forth, I did everything I could to reduce our forward momentum. There was a dangerous curve approaching, and at the speed we were traveling, close to fifty miles an hour, we’d never make it. It was a hard turn to make at fifteen.

“Pump the brakes again,” Tinkie said. She pulled out her cell phone and placed a 911 call for an ambulance.

“Don’t you think that’s a little premature?” I asked as I barely made a curve.

“We’re going to crash. It’s just a matter of how bad it’s going to be. I want medical attention as soon as possible. Oscar will never forgive me if I die.”

I flashed her a smile to show I appreciated her spirit and her humor.

I saw the caution sign for the turn that was almost 180 degrees. A yellow light blinked a warning. It was less than two thousand feet ahead. On one side was solid rock and the other was a sheer drop.

I pumped the brakes like one of the Riverdance performers. When there was no response, I did the only thing I could. I turned the wheel and rammed into the side of the mountain.

We slammed into solid rock. I heard the squeal of tires sliding on asphalt and the rattle of stones raining down on the top of the car. The air bags inflated with such a rush that it pushed the oxygen out of my lungs with terrific force. I was thrown forward and then back and then forward again until I felt as if I’d been shaken by a giant hand.

When I looked over at Tinkie, my heart almost stopped. Her face was turned toward me, her eyes closed, and a trickle of blood leaked from her mouth.

“Tinkie.” I struggled to get away from the air bag and my seat belt. Steam was coming from the car, and I could smell gasoline. It could go up in flames at any time.

There wasn’t another vehicle in sight, and in the darkness, I was afraid anyone coming up on the curve might not see the wreck until it was too late. But there was nothing I could do about that. My concern was Tinkie.

I managed to force my door open and hurry around to her side of the car. “Tinkie!” I choked back the tears. “Tinkie, come on.”

Her door was jammed, but I pulled and tugged until I got it open. She was so small that the air bag had struck her full in the face rather than the chest as it had me. But the good news was that I could easily pull her out of the car once I’d undone her seat belt.

“Tinkie,” I whispered urgently. “Wake up.”

She had to wake up. This whole movie adventure had been a nightmare from the get-go. Tinkie had been hurt numerous times. Normally I was the one who was injured, and that was far easier to take than seeing her so lifeless.

I felt for a pulse and found one, and it seemed strong and steady. My worst fears began to dissipate, and I lifted her into my arms and walked across the road, away from the car, to a small gravel area by the shoulder.

I gently eased her down onto the ground. For such a petite person, she was rather heavy. I looked over at the car, and in the darkness I could see it was a total loss. The front was accordioned almost to the driver’s seat.