Jeff Abbott - Do Unto Others

“Everybody knows those guys in Vietnam tried it. I don’t think that would terribly surprise anyone that Matt might smoke marijuana.” She eyed me. “You don’t do that, do you?” “Not anymore,” I said. “I tried it in college once, but I’d rather smoke tobacco.” “I wonder. Maybe Hally’s the one doing the drugs. You hear about how bad it is in the high schools.” “Maybe, but Hally really doesn’t seem to be into that.

I don’t think he could sneak it too easily around his Stepford battle-ax mother.” “Gaston said Beta’s car was out late at night by the Blalocks’ last week,” Candace said. I stood. “Wait a minute. Let’s say she was out there sneaking around, ’cause she suspected drug-type activities were going on at Matt’s. What would you wear?” “I don’t know what DEA agents currently find fashionable,” Candace sniffed.

“Maybe black? I’ll bet that old toot was out sneaking on their farm at night, dressed in black so she couldn’t be seen. And out back on Matt’s farm, the overgrowth is as dense as the day Mirabeau was founded. Perfect to hide a marijuana crop. It might stay muddy back there, even if we hadn’t had rain for a few days. Remember that tarry-black mud on Beta’s shoes?” Candace licked her lips. “I think you might have a point. Call Junebug and tell him about it.” “He couldn’t do anything. We don’t have a shred of proof.” I pulled on my pants and fumbled in my pockets for my keys. “I think I should go out there and take a look.” “If Matt Blalock’s growing pot in the forest, there’s no need for you to go stomping around out there,” Candace insisted. “If Bob Don’s telling the truth, he didn’t give Beta a cent.

Now there’s $25,000 in Beta’s account that she got recently. If I can find who else paid off Beta, I can kill me several birds with one stone. I can maybe get suspicion off Eula Mae, find out if Bob Don is remotely telling the truth, and maybe see who might have torn apart Beta’s house and shot Shannon.” I jingled my keys. “Now I’m going out there and see if ol’ Matt had anything worth being blackmailed over.”

“Fine. I’m coming with you.” Candace stood. “No, you’re not. It might be dangerous.” “I am too coming with you.” “No, you’re not.” Candace and I were obviously on the accelerated course for relationships. We’d made love and had our first fight in pert’ near record time. And guess who won? Candace insisted that we eat before going out to the Blalock property. It was close to nine and I desultorily ate a cheeseburger and fries at the Dairy Queen. Candace picked at a basket of chicken fingers, Texas toast, and peppered cream gravy. We sat on the same side of the booth (sure to fuel gossip) and when I pushed my food away, Candace took my hand. “I expected you to have more of an appetite, Jordy.” She smiled. “Sorry, I just-” “Hey, Mr. Poteet. How you?” One of the high-school boys who I’d helped in the library once in researching a paper passed by, cleaning off the next table. “Fine, Mike. How are you?” “Fair to middlin’.” He finished bussing the table and moved on. “Mr. Poteet,” I said. “Notice I didn’t correct that young man. I’ll just have to get those letters and get Bob Don to give me a little blood for a test. Gretchen had already bloodied him, so maybe I should have just asked him for some then.” “Don’t sound bitter. We’re going to find out the truth.” I slapped my head. “God, I haven’t called Sister. I haven’t told them where I am.” Candace fished a quarter from her purse. “Take my advice, you’re in no shape to chat with them right now. Let me.” I did. She came back from the pay phone with a faint smile. “Your nephew is holding down the fort. I made up a story that we had to stay late at the library to catch up on work from being closed.” “Thanks.” I squeezed her hands and she squeezed back. I looked down at the ruins of my hamburger. “I don’t have much stomach for this. Let’s go.” We made a quick stop at Candace’s for her to change into a dark sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. I was already in a chambray shirt, jeans, and boots, so I figured I was camouflaged enough. She came back to the truck quickly, with a heavy dark flashlight in her hand. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. I was glad she was being the brains; mine felt too fried. She modeled her black sneakers for me. They were expensive looking and I’m sure would make Candace look like a badass on the aerobics floor. “Aren’t they cute?” she said. “I got ’em for the ladies’ soccer league over in Bavary.” “Charming,” I murmured. “Just what every aspiring Nancy Drew needs.” She huffed and handed me an old dark windbreaker and an Astros baseball cap, dark navy with an orange A stitched in the middle.

“Cover up that blond hair of yours, smarty.” I bowed and pulled the cap low on my head. The drive out to the farm-to-market road that eventually curved away from Mirabeau and into the east side of Bavary was brief and uneventful. The night hung above us, heavy with clouds.

The moon peeked through occasionally, like a flirtatious girl. I could hardly see any stars and I wanted to. My daddy had always told me wishes on stars were the best kind to make. I parked the Blazer far off the road, on the side opposite the Blalock property. We shut the door softly, both of us suddenly aware of how far sound travelled in the hush of night. Crickets chirped busily, as though gossiping about our errand. The air felt cool; the heat of spring had temporarily fled. I shivered in the navy windbreaker, walked around to the passenger side of the Blazer, and hugged Candace close. “We’ll have to be very quiet,” I told her. “No talking. Let me have the flashlight and stick close to me.” She nodded and took my hand. Her palm felt good against mine. We dashed across a weed-eaten field, across the farm-to-market road, and then began our careers as trespassers. We crept into the deepening gloom of the overgrowth. I kept the spot of light moving low on the ground. Shadows blurred together as trees grew closer. In this part of Texas we have trees called lost pines, and there were a lot of them to be found in these woods. They’re called lost because you have to get farther east, toward Arkansas and Louisiana to hit real heavy Texas pine forests. These pines had gotten separated from their eastern brothers and taken root here. The idea of wandering trees made me think of the last scene of Macbeth, unluckiest of plays. Thin and soaring, the lost pines bunched around us, forming nature’s own maze. My shoulders kept bumping against their trunks, and I could feel an occasional needle fall against me. We wandered for at least thirty minutes, moving in a widening circle. I didn’t know the legal boundaries of the Blalock property but I was willing to guess that we’d crossed them long ago. We didn’t speak. I kept playing the light across the needle-strewn dirt and Candace kept her fingers dug into my belt, freeing my hands. I played the light a little higher and she saw them before I did, silently guiding my arm back to where I’d shined the light. Fronds of five, poking up in fairly even rows. There were a lot of rows; a lot of money. I bit my lip, thinking. “Those are pot plants!” Candace whispered in my ear.

She disengaged her fingers from my belt. “What should we do now? We’ve got some proof; let’s get the hell out and call Junebug.” “Let me think a second,” I mumbled back. I played the light a little higher, above the fronds, and that’s when I saw it. A small box, fastened to a tree not four feet away from us. My arm lashed out and I grabbed Candace in an iron grip. “Don’t move,” I said in a normal tone of voice. “Booby trap.” She froze like Lot’s wife. Her arm muscles bunched and tensed under my fingers. Slowly and deliberately, I played the light directly around our feet. About three inches from Candace’s left foot there was a wire. I kept the light on it and squeezed her arm twice. “Jordy-” she hissed. “That’s the trigger, by your foot.